The Twenty-Third Hunger Games: Winter Wonderland
by Glossy-12
Summary: With Danus Nichalson retired and President Snow appointing a teenager to be the Head Gamemaker, the gamemakers are angry. Their work is the best yet and promises to have a bloody year. Several Author Collaboration. This will be very quick so only apply if you can write a TON over winter break.
1. The Beginning

** A/N(Glossy)**:What's up everyone? This is my winter break hunger games marathon! Anyone who wants to participate, look at the forums for more details. It's going to be awesome and done really fast with shorter, but more frequent chapters than FL or CYE. Submissions are pretty much first come first serve providing I know you or you are a good author. I will not turn anyone down, but I may limit the amount of tributes you can have if you seem to be a new author since I have had issues in the past.

Koen Randell, 17  
>Head Gamemaker<br>It's my first year. The other gamemakers already resent me. They were all trying for the slot, but Coriolanus, my friend from Panem Prep, gave me the slot as his first act as president. I'm the third gamemaker, and I plan on being here for a long time. My arena has been something that Coriolanus and I have worked on for a long time and he will be helping me in my gamemaking duties.  
>The arena was made for Coriolanus's namesake and is a beautiful place. The idea comes from a holiday from a long time ago, known as Christmas. There was this jolly fat man and these little elves that made toys and whatnot, and even flying reindeer. These were all wonderful tales at the time, but I have the power to put them to life in the arena.<br>The best part of the arena is something that I stumbled across. It was a movie that showed a creature, known as the Grinch, try to ruin Christmas. I'll be using him to ruin the tribute's days, and in some cases ending them.  
>The arena is quite simple. In the center is Santa's village which includes large toy building workshops, reindeer stables, a cabin for Santa, and a large square with a Christmas tree. The rest of the arena includes a frozen lake, pine trees dusted with snow, and an ice castle inhabited by snowmen. At first glance, it may look like I am not taking the Games seriously, but when they see how deadly my arena is, people will respect me as the next legendary gamemaker.<p> 


	2. District 1: Forced To Compete

**A/N (Glossy): **Only three spots left now! Submit quickly.

**Valeria Latrelle, 17 (written by LokiThisIsMadness)**

**District 1 Female**

The sound of my daughter's crying wakes me. I roll over in bed and pick her up from her crib. She's small, but beautiful as I curl her small body against mine in bed. Kissing the downy tufts on dark brown hair on her little head, I let my baby girl do the comforting for the both of us.

For a moment, I can almost forget it. That today, in the reaping for the twenty-third Hunger Games, I will have to volunteer and leave my baby girl behind. This little bundle of joy in my arms, who is only one year old, never went throught a day without seeing her mother. And maybe, just maybe, she'll have to grow up without me.

Of course, she isn't alone, and that is more that I could ever ask for. I take a quick look at my husband, who is still sleeping deeply, and smile. He's an amazing father to our little Juniper and I know that he'll take care of her for as long as I'm gone, but, deep inside me, there's a part of me that wants to scream at him to make them stop, to make them leave us alone.

I tried everything. Told them that I couldn't volunteer, that I had a daughter that needed me the most, and that they should just pick someone else to volunteer. But of course didn't listen. Once the volunteer is chosen, there is no turning back. A few years ago, a girl named Roxa was picked to volunteer but she ended up not doing. Got too scared, I guess. Either that or she realized what the Hunger Games truly were, just like I did when my Juniper was born.

A few days later, we all watched as her body was dragged out of her home. Her final destination? The morgue. I hadn't payed much attention much attention to it at the time, but now, it was clear that they were sending us a message.

Do as you are told and volunteer or die.

Either way, we would be facing death. Juniper's chest heaves erratically as she searches for comfort. Something she can only find in my arms or her father's, for the matter.

"Shh, shhh...it's alright, baby girl. I'm here and I love you very much. But you know that, don't you, little Juniper?" I attempt to soothe Juniper, and stop the cries that rattle my ears. As far as I concerned, she already knows the sound of my voice.

"You're safe. Nothing is going to hurt you, I promise." Her eyelids begin to grow heavy and then, all of a sudden, she is asleep again.

A few seconds later after Juniper feel asleep, I feel two arms wrap around my waist, and Vance kisses my cheek. "Why didn't you wake me? I believe it was my turn."

I smile, and turn around to face him. "Don't worry about that. She fell asleep really quickly and besides, you were still sleeping." He takes Juniper from my arms, amd puts her back on her little crib. I'll be able to walk with her to the reapings but after that, it's done. I might never get to see her again. Almost as if he had read my mind, Vances smiles sadly.

"You should and get ready. I believe Maggie has something for you." I smile a little. My little sister never fails to suprise me.

I get up and walk to the bathroom, taking one last look at my little family before closing the door. I might die, but I won't give up without a fight. My Juniper deserves that, at least.

After taking a quick shower and doing my hair, I pick a dark grey dress for my closet. Just like the color of my eyes and Juniper's eyes, as well. Downstairs, my little sister Maggie is waiting for me, a sad smile on her face.

Despite her being an annoying little brat sometimes, I have no idea about what I would do without Maggie. We grew up together, we went to school together and did everything. Well, not everything, because she didn't get pregnant at sixteen like I did.

She smiles when I reach her, and gives me a quick hug. "I got something for you. I wanted to give it to you on Junny's second birthday, but I might as well just give it to you now." She reaches for my hand, and places something in it. It's only at the second glance that I notice that it's locket. The locket is divided into two sections: one side has a picture of them three of us; me, Maggie and Vance and the other side has a picture of my little Juniper, all by herself.

Maggie places a hand on my cheek and is about to say something, but Vances comes running downstairs, our daughter in his arms.

He gives her to me. And suddenly, I just want five more minutes alone with my baby girl. I smile at both of them and take one last look at my house. "I should get going. You guys can catch up, okay?"

They both nod at me, but I can see that they now what I'm thinking about. In my way to the reapings, I meet Garrett, who will be volunteering with me.

Before Juniper was born, he was my training partner. Hell, he was one of the closest friends I ever had. He made me realize something, too. In the end,we can either die as heroes or live and hide as villians.

I don't want that. I want my daughter to remember me as a hero, not just some coward. Once the reapings start, I pass Juniper to Vance, who is out of the reaping ball, since he just turned nineteen a few months ago. And then, when the escort calls the girl's name, I volunteer.

I'm so sorry, Juniper. Mama loves you very much.

When I shake Garrett's hand, I get the feeling that I can't trust him completly. Before we are lead to the Justice Building, I search for Vance and Juniper. My family.

Die as heroes or live as villians. The former is most likely to happen.

**Garrett Ryker, 18 (written by LoxFox)**

**District 1 Male**

Four-four time is the rhythm that my feet slog out onto the tarmac, my breathing regulated as I approach the home stretch on my morning run.

Even. Consistent. Bam, bam, bam, bam. I jog, continuing through my district, a multitude of emotions swirling around inside of me. I have already deliberated, debated my case, and I have decided in the end, come to a conclusion on the action that will alienate me from my family, possibly irreparably so. This year I will not be volunteering for my district.

I do not tell them, though. As I swing in through the door, my mother hugs me tight as she would do to a child. Yet I am still sweaty and tousled from the run, so she quickly recedes, recoiling at the unpleasantness, instead going for the dignified handshake, the dignified nod, the dignified treatment that you give to a man before he enters adulthood for good.

Meals are a sober affair, and I do not wish to rifle the sincerity, especially not now that I am so close to expressing my declaration. Uncomfortable, I try to catch their eyes, start the conversation, but the time does not seem right, and before I know it, I am whisked off to be made presentable for my big day.

I rehearse my words in my head, trying to find a tactful way to turn down their kindness, their years of paying for the training, their continued love and support through all the trials of the academy. I try formal, casual, sincere, scared; nothing seems right, there is no way of saying it that does not sound ungrateful. Buttoning up my shirt, the soft ripple of pristine white linen folding under my fingers, I traipse down the stairs, running my hands through my hair to sort it out. When my mother catches sight of me, she bursts into tears of hardly-concealed happiness, and I suddenly feel a great stab of guilt. I cannot let my family down, not now, not after all they have done for me. Ingratitude is a sin, and I will not let them corrupt me.

So it is with a heavy heart that I twirl on command, and let my mother rub a smear of dirt off my nose, as she tells me that I look like a man of honour, that I will bring glory to the family, that Leah will be proud from her seat in the Beyond.

As much as I love my parents, I know that the comment there was a low blow; using a sibling that I deeply cared for against me, to motivate me for the games. Mother has not yet found the wisdom in the Scripture, the holy texts of our faith, and I think she believes that entering me into the games will ease the pain of losing her eldest child. I do not know if that will truly be the case.

It is with a sense of anticipation that I exit, checking the road before I stroll out, where several of the other boys and girls from our district are chatting, swarming to the place of reaping with varying degrees of concern; the older ones know the drill, and are assured in their futures, so half-heartedly chatter as they meander along in small groups of three or four, whereas the youngest tributes, those who are not as confident, they stay behind, some of them still holding hands with their parents as they are escorted to their first reaping.

As I step out, Val catches up with me, her daughter's small frame slung up against her chest. We were training partners in the academy, and even after she had borne her child, she is a formidable opponent and a graceful warrior of immense skill. During her years at the Academy, we were competitive youths, always sparring or strengthening our spirit, our bond. Rebellious and volatile, then, and though she has mellowed a little since, she still has fire in her soul, even if she does not see it. She was the one who almost managed to slice my face in twain, leaving a neat scar carved into my hairline and across one eye.

This year, we are going in as a duo, the two of us, together, though neither of us is doing so really by our own free will.

She falls into step behind me as we wander towards the town centre, and we end up talking amiably about everything but the games. We are both a little uneasy about it, and try not to let the other know that we are on edge, but neither of us is the best at hiding things from each other, and I can almost feel her anxiety, for her safety and that of her child. She has been penned into a corner here, and is definitely tense, anticipating the events to come.

When the conversation moves onto a more serious note, she expresses her concern over the safety of her child, and I know that there is nothing I can say to that. After trying to dispel her fears, with what I am afraid is limited success, we take our places, and I await my call. When she volunteers, the spiralling coils of her hair bouncing in the light, my heart goes out to her and her family, and I truly hope that I will not have to be the one to turn her against humanity. I have always abhorred conflict.

Once I volunteer, after my mother's eager gaze, almost frightening in its intensity, has stared me down and pressured me into my act of bravery, I shake hands with Val onstage, and send her a comforting smile. Her expression is different though; it has got the ghost of the harshness that plagued her humbling childhood. I sincerely hope that she will come out of this whole, untainted by the games.

Val is my friend more than she is my ally, and I will not allow these atrocities to take a mother away from a child.


	3. District 2: Unplanned Volunteers

**A/N (Glossy): **It would be really nice if one of you would grab D9 boy. Also please review!

**Amelia 'Ame' Vale, 17 (written by Emimawi)**

**District 2 Female**

For probably the first time ever, I'm restless. I can't stop moving, my feet tapping at the carpeted floor in a jumpy dance. I'm not even nervous, as if I should be. It's more of anticipation. Like, the night before something big happens… like your birthday, for example. I'd assume that even though you're not scared, there'd be some nerves there, from excitement.

I wouldn't know, we don't celebrate birthdays.

It's hardly been long since I woke up, but I can hear the groans from my sister's room next door. The walls are paper thin, which can get really annoying. I can't have a private conversation with anyone without them hearing. Then again, I'm not one for intimate conversations.

There are the groans again, accompanied by a "Shut up, Amelia!" from her room. I flinch, rolling my eyes. I hate being called Amelia. It's so feminine, gives some idea of someone cute or delicate, perhaps even sexy. Which I am definitely not.

Deciding to give mercy to Nathaia, I grab my overcoat and pad silently across the hall to my garden.

The equipment is really mediocre; we only have a few dummies and an axe. If I want to use my knives, I have to use the sharper knives in the kitchen cupboard, like the ones we use to cut bread. Unlike the majority of our district, we haven't got that much money at all. We do fine really, and we'd probably count as fortunate in other districts; but by standards here, our one floor house and small garden counts as poor.

It's because Dad never trained to be a Peacekeeper. Really, I can't blame him at all- it doesn't sound like a promising job prospect to me. Instead, he works with weaponry and things like this. It helps, kind of. Not being as pampered as most are gives me an edge.

I suppose if I wanted to train properly, I'd have to go up to the academy- but that's out of the question. If I was stupid enough to show up and train so early in the morning on reaping day, they'd know something was off. I'm not tipping them off about anything.

I'm one of the lucky ones who got a scholarship at the academy, since we're not exactly rich enough to send everyone there by paying. Nathaia didn't get in, but none of us really blames her. I'm the only one who could possibly win.

Even they don't know what I'm doing.

I hop down onto the dew-covered grass, barefoot. Not flinching in the slightest, I grab my axe and practice a few moves. I call my axe 'Crimson', and I've had her for five years, since I stole her from the academy. Sorry, I 'persuaded' the guard to let me take her home. I've always had a way with words.

I'm not exactly sure how long I've been doing this, but the sun has risen high in the sky, beating down on my back in golden streams. Looking up from where I've practicing laps, I see Nathaia looking at me quizzically. I give her a smirk, jogging up to her and snatching the towel from her outstretched arms.

"Thanks."

She's still looking at me oddly, and I feel slightly frustrated. I want to wipe that dumb look off her pretty little face. Nathaia and I look nothing alike… to be expected, since we have different mothers. Unlike me, she lives up to her delicate name, with dark curls and bright blue eyes- a bit like the dolls that some of the girls play with. It's a long stretch from my thick brown hair and cat eyes.

"I'm allowed to train, right?" I say, finishing wiping off. "Problem?" If there is a problem, she doesn't say so. Instead she just nods her head behind her.

"You're probably going to want a shower…" she says. "Reapings are in an hour."

"I know when the reapings are!" I say, indignantly.

I love showers, honestly, and I could do with an hour long soak, but limit myself to 10 minutes. After washing and drying my hair, I get changed into my reaping dress of this year. It's a mint green one, and I'm actually surprised at the effect it has on my appearance. My usually mediocre appearance is enhanced by it, and even my strong jaw- which I hate, looks a bit better today.

Well, if I'm going- I'd better go in style.

I murmur a quick goodbye to my family as I head out the door, they'll come later. Nathaia is 14, so she'll need to come soon- but I want to do something first.

I get a few glances, heading down the path. I'm kind of notorious for being that one creepy girl, whom nobody really talks to. That's a lie, I like the idea of being thought of as 'creepy', but I do have friends. I'm just not one of those rowdy teens like most trained tributes are.

I spot her before she spots me, Astraea Hyilds. She's the designated tribute for this year, a good looking 18 year old. She's not up for it.

I give her a smile, and it takes all my strength to maintain it as I tap her on the shoulder. Eurgh. I might have wanted to see her die, it might have been funny.  
>"Good luck, Astraea." I say, and it sounds so fake- but she must have fallen for it.<p>

"Thank you, Amelia… is it?" she beams, and then turns back to her friends.

Bitch. My name is Ame.

We take our places on the stage, customarily with the female's going first- but our escort, Cassius Newport is kind of lost. He's new, since our last escort is bedridden.

They said it was 'blood poisoning', but we all know it was her immense crush on the male tribute from last year.

Cassius is head to toe, dyed in green- and it's kind of funny. With his ears and red hair, he looks like an elf.

It's pathetic.

I kind of zone out until the guy volunteers. He's a year older than me, obviously, and he's got dark hair and very muscular. Marshall Negill.

Oh, him. Just my luck, I'm stuck with the jackass.

Rolling my eyes, I flip my hair back for effect, posing my left foot forward, as if to start a race. I've got to beat her.

"And the female tribute is, Ra-"

"I Volunteer!" I nearly scream it, and there's a slow gasp that echoes throughout the crowd. It's technically against the rules to volunteer if you've not been chosen, but hey, it's your death sentence. Except I'm not going to die.

I've got my eye of Astraea as I mount the stage, and she's shooting me daggers, eyes narrowed. Hey, what can I say- you never were going to live.

When Cassius asks me my name, I've got a smirk on my face. "Ame Vale."

It's probably the first time most people have heard me talk, so I just continue grinning. Ame Vale, Victor of the 23rd Hunger Games.

It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

**Marshall Negill, 18 (written by TheOnlyPotato)**

**District 2 Male**

"Take it easy on 'er, Marsh!" One of my cronies call, edge creeping into his voice. I turn around and snarl at him, pointing a bloodied finger in his direction. Barnaby clamps his mouth shut, allowing me to go back to pounding in the face of my latest victim.

By this point, I can't recognize the face of the wimp I'd been laying into, nor can I remember why I was beating him. I don't care though, there's a thrill in the warm blood on my fist and when he spits out a tooth, I laugh.

This is my life. One spent straddling the line between sadistic and rebellious. I tell myself that I'm a survivalist, but who cares what I am? I sleep perfectly fine at night knowing that some unlucky lass or lad suffered the wrath of what they call my fists of steel. In fact, that was the only way I could sleep.

"What was I sayin'!" I ask, standing and throwing the kids limp body onto the gravel. I turn to look at my group. There's Barnaby, the only boy that I knew in the orphanage that I didn't mind looking after. He's almost thirteen, a real soft-hearted fellow. But I decide who felt mercy, and I had taken a liking to his little face.

It's he who clears his throat and says, "He called you a mongrel."

"Oh yeah. Thanks lil buddy," I turn back to the kid, taking my boot and giving him a hard stomp to the stomach. "Next time you got somethin' to say 'bout me, you think twice! Don't let me catch you 'round these parts anymore. Ya hear?" The victim groans in response and I smirk, beckoning to the rest of my clique to follow me.

Caryline, the girl that keeps us out of trouble with the peacekeepers and keeps our records clean, pushes her glasses UUP on her nose. "It's err.. it's time for the reaping you guys. We have to go... and er... we can't be late... not again b-because... err... you would get a whipping and I-I would be grounded and... can we leave now?" I look to the mousy little thing and grab the hem of her dress, wiping the blood from my knuckles and exposing her knickers.

Caryline squeaks and I laugh, removing my hands and running them through my dark hair. "Yeah sure, Carrie. Let's get the reaping before lil miss proper o'er here has a conniption, eh?"

Zayla and Zeke - the only two people in our group that are exactly like me - laugh loudly, pushing past Caryline and Barnaby with small punches and pushes to the innocents. They're Careers, the two of 'em. Not to mention the most lethal duo ever to grace the land. Notice I say duo, because as a one-man-troupe, I'm the most deadly person.

Zayla knows how to crush a mans head with her thighs and Zeke once asphix- asphicat- suffocated his ma so badly that she went brain dead. The twins are feared, but not as feared as I am. If they ever become more feared than me, they'll get knocked down a couple notches.

I don't bother heading back to the orphanage to change out of my bloody clothing, and I don't allow Caryline or Barnaby to do so either. It's one of the great pleasures that accompany having them in our group - they're like pets. They're so scared of me, they'd do anything I say.

The Reaping is the same set up, with the same douche-nuts and the same saplings of contenders. They all part as Zeke, Barnaby and I pass, most of them keeping their eyes on the floor. As it should be.

Our escort - some twisted fuck who went overboard on his Christmas decorations - clambers onto the stage and starts with the same shit. Except, this time he's a new kid who's new to the our District so how spiel is extra long. When I get tired of listening to his crap, I entertain myself by tormenting the surrounding kids.

Eventually, the chick for our District is called and another girl lurches forward to volunteer and I scoff. They weren't letting this puny rabbit do our District Justice were they? God, Zayla should have volunteered.

The boy is called next, allowing our second volunteer. I don't like him. I'm going to do something about it.

Stepping out into the aisle, I punch the kid in his face. He lunges back, blood flying from his nose. Looking around, I smirk proudly. "Anyone else wanna volunteer?" Silence. That's what I thought. Stupid fucks.

I proudly take stage next to the girl, squeezing her hand when it's time. _I own you_, I try and mentally tell her. _And don't you forget it._

Now, it's time to say goodbye to the only losers that kept me amused all these years.


	4. District 3 Reaping: Only We Will Die

**A/N (Glossy): **I REALLY need someone to take the D9 boy. I already have three tributes, and so do many others so if you have only one or so it would be great if you could do it. People with more tributes will have some of their tributes go far. Just saying, the more you help the better you'll do. Also, reviews don't hurt your chances.

**Andre Seymar, 16 (written by LokiThisIsMadness)**

**District 3 Male**

Chessie! Her name is the first thing on my mind when I wake up. I reach out for her, or at least, for the space that should have been in.

But then, I remember what will happen today, something that Chessie and I spent last night trying to forget. It was the first time that I saw my best friend drinking and then, one thing lead to another and we started kissing and-

I shake my head. At least, I made her forget what would happen today even if it was only for a little while. For Chessie, I would do literally anything. 5 years ago, Chessie's older sister and best friend was reaped, when Chessie was only 11 years old. I remember that she was a favorite back in the Capitol, since Chessie and I watched her interview together. Mariana was beautiful at 18, with dark brown hair and brown eyes, and a talent at making friends.

I was the only one there for Chessie when Mariana was stabbed in the back by a Career, getting the 11th place. Since then, she moved into the apartment next to the one I live with my mother, Cora, so we could be closer to each other. Her parents separated after her that and her dad disappeared of the map.

Just like my dad, after my little brother Niko was born. Yeah, I get it, it was cool of my mom to cheat on him like that, but me and little Niko had nothing to do with that. I needed my dad, I needed the man who taught me who to work with a computer or do everything that I know. But he just left, which showed that he didn't give a damn about me, just like my mother said.

I refused to believe that, though. I refuse to believe that he didn't gave a damn about me, because why would he make sure that I was strong and healthy before he left? Maybe because he thought I could leave and survive, while my mother and little brother starved to death? Yeah, right. I don't care what my mother did, Niko is still my little brother. Like with Chessie, I would do anything for him. Literally, anything.

I stand up and walk to our small bathroom. I take a quick shower because that's all we can do, anyway. After getting dressed, I stumble into Niko, who is looking quite happy.

"Hey little bud'." I ruffle his dark hair a bit and smile. How could I ever leave this kid behind? Niko is currently thirteen, but he is already good-looking.

"Andre! I saw Chessie leaving earlier. What was she doing over here, uh? So late?" He winks, causing me to blush. It's not possible that my little brother has any idea of-

Before I can answer, my mother appears, almost out of nowhere. "What are you two doing in here? Breakfast is ready!" She gives Niko a disaproving look and leaves.

Niko smiles sadly. "I guess she'll never stop hating me, yeah?" My poor little brother, who didn't deserve to have our mother hating him.

I hug him, not knowing what else to do. Our mother has been like this to him since my father left, there is nothing else to do.

We have breakfast in silence and after that, Niko and I leave for the reapings. Chessie and I had agreed to meet later at the square, after Niko was safe at his section. It's only when we are reaching the square that I realize that Niko didn't say a word yet.

I turn to him. "Hey, is everything okay?" I know that he's probably nervous but I can't go meet Chessie without knowing that is alright, for sure.

He nodds. "I'll see you later, my friends are there." He walks away and before I can turn away, a pair of arms wrap around my torso and Chessie rests her head on my shoulder.

"Hey there." I pull her into my arms and we kiss, forgetting about what is happening around us, at least for a split second. When we break apart, I decide to say what I've been waiting to say for ten years.

"I love you."

Chessie smiles. "I love you too. I'll meet you after, okay? We can take Niko and go to my house and play some video games. My dad won't be there."

It's this girl that I feel in love with. My best friend, my partner in crime. I kiss her nose. "Good luck."

"You too."

With that, I walk to the boys' sixteen year old section, right before the reapings start. Our escort goes straight to the reapings and I guess I respect her for that.

Not Chessie, please. Not Chessie. Not Chessie.

"Tethys Rashid!" The girls in sixteen hear old aection part for a girl with dark hair, that is already smiling. Why is she smiling? Because she is going to her death? I sight with relief. Chessie is safe for another year. One more and she'll be free, forever.

Not Niko, please. Not Niko. Not my little brother.

"Andre Seymar!" At first, I don't react. I stand still, looking around, hoping that the chosen boy will step foward and walk to his death, alongside Tethys.

It's only when I hear Chessie's scream is that I realize it's me. I walk to the stage slowly and after I reach it, the escort makes me shake the girl's hand. Her smile is making me sick, to be honest.

Before I am taken to the Justice Building, I whisper four words to Chessie.

Take care of Niko.

**Tethys Rashid, 16 (written by HestiaAbnegation11)**

**District 3 Female**

Why couldn't everyone just be nice to one another? I think on Reaping day. It would just save so much time and lives. Not everyone thinks that. The Capitol doesn't neither does the districts. Well, I guess that's our lives today. "Tethys!" My friend, Annabelle shouts from across the room. "What?" I say.

"Reaping day, today we get pancakes!" She says and runs toward me. She's only 12, she doesn't know any better than to shout. "Awesome, where's mommy?" I ask her?

"She's making them in the kitchen. It won't take very long I don't think, do you Tethy?" She asks me?

"No, I don't think so, Annie. How was yesterday?" I ask yawning.

"It was great! At school we learned about science and genetics and things! I didn't get very much, but I knew more than the rest of the class!" Annie shouts.

"I'm sure that was great, but the pancakes will be greater!" I shout running to the kitchen to grab a pancake.

I grab one and start eating it, because this is the only time of the year where we can eat pancakes. "Thanks mom." I tell my mother and she smiles back at me.

"I'm going to go see what Emilene is doing." I say and taking my pancake to go.

"Kay, but be at the Reapings by 10! We don't want to be late!" She shouts before I slam the door to go to Emilene's house. I race down the streets and everything when I get to Emilene's house I see her pretty blonde hair bobbing around the front yard. "Come here, Alex!" She shouts running toward the dog.

It decides another path and runs straight between her legs and she flies and lands on her face. "Hey Emilene!" I shout and she looks up, her face muddy.

"Hi Tethys. I am so going to murder this dog!" She shouts jumping up and racing after the poor dog.

She grabs the dog and lugs him inside and I see her little brother. "Hey, Ren!" I shout and he runs toward me and hugs my legs.

"Hi Tethys!"

"Let's go to the Reaping!" Emilene's mom shouts and grabs the car keys and gets into the really old car.

We drive put-putting toward the Reaping. We stop in the parking lot and unload going toward the Reaping person. "Hi, I'm Emilene Travis and this is Tethys Rashid, we are eligible to be reaped, what are we supposed to do?"

"Prick your finger." She says and pricks our fingers.

"Ouch." I exclaim and we walk toward where we are supposed to stand. I see my mother and Annie in the crowd. I stand next to Emilene and a girl from school named Fran.

"Hello retard, how are you today?" she fakes a smile at me.

Emilene steps between me and her and says "Got a problem, idiot?"

Fran steps back and straightens her blonde hair "Just take retard girl!" She calls to the escort.

Emilene leaps at her and tackles her to the ground. "Stop..stop." I whisper but I don't think they hear me.

"Welcome to District Three!" The escort shouts to us.

Ugh, he could use without the microphone, thank you very much! "Stop shouting!" Someone yells at the back of the crowd and everyone laughs.

"Um, well, yes, let's get right to it! Let's start with the girls!"

He reaches down into the bowl and I cross my fingers. "Tethys Rashid." And I am shell-shocked. "Told you." Fran whispers in my ear as I walk up to the stage.

"Now for the boys! Andre Seymar!" He shouts and a young boy starts to walk forth. Too bad for him, we will die.

"Your tributes from District Three! Andre Seymar and Tethys Rashid!"

I go into the Justice building and see my mom and Annie standing in there, waiting for me. "Tethy!" Annie shouts, her eyes filling with tears and she starts to bawl.

"It's okay. Its' okay." I say giving her a huge hug.

"Mom." I say looking at her.

"Not my daughter." She whimpers and goes into my arms.

"You're time is up." A Peacekeeper says from behind us.

"No it's not, it hasn't been two minutes." My mom says defiantly.

"That is for the other districts, due to the amount of rebellions in District Three at the moment we have had to cut it down. Leave now, or be forcibly removed."

They leave and Annie tries to hold onto my leg but my mom picks her up and carries her away. My next visitor is Emilene. "Tethys!" She shouts and runs into my arms and gives me a bear hug.

"It's okay, Emilene, at least no one else will die. Except Andre." I say whimpering.

"Tethys! Stop being so selfless, it's okay to be a little selfish right now." She says.

"Time is up." The peacekeeper says.

"No it isn't." Emilene's eyes flash angrily.

He picks her up by the legs and she screams and swats at his helmet. Well, at least no one except me and Andre will die from District Three.


	5. District 4: Great Expectations

**A/N (Glossy): **Here is District 4! Only ONE spot left so if you want it, grab it very quick!

**Droplet Shimmer, 18 (written by mykindleisawesome)**

**District 4 Female**

I feel slightly more deflated than normal as I skip down to breakfast. As usual, my dad isn't there, but my mom is. She works at the training center, and this is about the only day she has off all year. It's really stressful for her.

"Hey mom!" I cheer, sitting down and eating a plate of eggs. "Sorry, can't stay long! Already slept in, Aurora will _kill _me if I'm late!" And just like that, I'm gone, bouncing out the door.

But I'm halfway down the street before I realize that I forgot my coffee. My eyes widen as I rush back indoors. Mom was bringing it to the door for me. "Oh, sorry mom! Thanks!" I grab it, Aurora's mom can give it to my mom later. I'll be in the Capitol by then.

Yeah, I'm volunteering. The best female, and I am pretty proud of myself! Aurora was a bit mad at me, but she got over it!

"Hey, Droplet." Ooh, looks like Aurora had the same idea as me! At least I don't have to walk as far!

"Heeey!" I cry, hugging my friend. Her light brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and its about shoulder length. She's in a nice strapless green dress. I feel flattered, because I picked it out for her. "I like your dress!" I smirk at her and giggle a bit.

"Oh thanks, Girly! I like yours, too!" Mines a short, sparkly turquoise blue, the same color as my eyes. She helped pick it out. "Nervous about volunteering?"

Yes. "Of course not, Princess! I've got this! Expect to see me home soon!" No. I'm not ready. I don't want to go. But if I don't go, I'll be shunned from my family, and most likely the entire district. There's not really a choice for me.

Aurora begins to dig in her purse, which is a handheld one and tiny. I don't know how she fits anything in there. After a moment, she pulls out a necklace. The chain is silver, and so is the charm. The charm is a trident, with a sapphire in the middle.

She fastened it around my neck. "For your token." She whispers. I take the small charm in my hand.

"Oh my goodness, it's beautiful! Thank you so much!" I exclaim, hugging her again. "Now come on, it would be terrible if I was late!"

* * *

><p>We quickly check in and head over to the eighteen year old section. I hear multiple congratulations, but a few people openly glare at me. It was their last year, and I stole their last chance. Our escort, Giovana, walks onstage.<p>

"Good afternoon, District Four!" She yells, and there's a deafening applause. "Now, please turn your attention to Mayor Donovan!"

I groan, my least favorite part of the reapings. Where the Mayor comes onstage and shows us how she can't shut up. Her name is Ally, my dad, the head peacekeeper, has invited her over many times before. Her voice is annoying.

On the bright side, I won't have to hear it anymore! Most likely. Because, I mean, I'm going into the Hunger Games. Chances are I won't make it back.

_Oh, what happened to Miss Optimistic?_

I sneer at the voice. Miss Optimistic died when her coffee was gone. I gave the mug to Aurora. No one will say goodbye to me, they already have.

_Ohh, is little miss perfect sad? Did she finally not get what she wanted?_

Shut up! Just shut up! I'm trying to enjoy my last moments here, and you're ruining it! AGAIN!

I rub my temples, suddenly wishing for more coffee. The voice is back. He always comes when I get stressed. Or when I'm not who my parents would want me to be. And even sometimes-

Stop it! I yell at myself. Happy. Be happy. Be Droplet. Be 'perfect' again.

Giovana walks back onstage, the mayor is gone. "Now, ladies first!" She reaches into the bowl and pulls out a name. "Jasmi-"

"I volunteer!" A surprise to nobody. The crowd parts in front of me, and I walk up to the stage, all confidence. I wave at a few friends, and walk up to the microphone. "My name is Droplet Shimmer, and don't count me out! I'm going to win." I give a quick wave, and retreat to where I'm supposed to stand.

Giovana smiles at me, giving me reassurance that I did okay. "And now for the lucky, lucky male!" She is obviously not talking about the one that's reaped. Someone will volunteer.

"Ooh, and the lucky tribute is Ba-"

"I volunteer!" I'm not surprised. But I am surprised about who it is. Koi Kloet, younger brother of Darian Kloet, Victor from a couple years ago. He was eighteen when he won, and his brother is fifteen. I have no idea how he was good enough. He was shy, and I almost never saw him training.

A bunch of the eighteen year males were ticked off. They now hate him, but I think he's okay. Not good, not bad. Mediocre at best.

He climbs onstage and introduces himself. "I'm Koi Kloet." He says into the microphone, and takes a step backwards. The escort seems momentarily confused.

"Welcome this year's fabulous tributes, Koi and Droplet! Tributes, shake hands."

Koi holds his hand out, and I take it, smiling brightly. Good thing I'm not going to be a Career...

**Koi Kloet, 15 (written by Glossy-12)**

**District 4 Male**

My life has always been filled with these... great expectations. I read a book that held a boy in a situation not too different from mine. The title was even Great Expectations and it had to do with a boy being elevated from poor to rich and his adjustment to his new wealth. That was me when I was thirteen. Darian, my brother, volunteered out of nowhere and actually won. After his victory, everyone looked to me. I had done some training, but not to a degree where I was ready to go into the Games. Last year they approached me, but I turned them down. This year, Darian told me he thought I was ready. I trust Darian with my life, so of course I told him I would volunteer.

Now don't get me wrong, I always had plans to volunteer at some point. But fifteen is pretty young to go into an arena with kids out to get me that are better trained than me. Even our eighteen year olds are nothing compared to District 1 and 2. I really don't want to volunteer at 15, but it could be really good for me. I could be blessed with a water arena or something of the sort, but I don't know if they are going to do that two years in a row.

I am out of the house pretty quick following Darian down to the docks. Victor's village is a great part of the District and we have gotten a great fishing boat. Darian has been training me a lot and has me throw spears at fish everyday right at the docks.

Darian's pretty much my only friend. I was too focused with training for the Games after I knew I was going in to make friends. Also, I don't like talking to people. I'll avoid conversations when possible.

When we get to the docks, I pull a couple spears out of a shed. I start to walk along the docks and the next thing I know I am in the water. I reach the surface sputtering water and I can see Darian cracking up on the docks.

"That's real funny Darian."

"You should be thankful. You might not be in the ocean for a very long time."

I smile at him as I climb out of the water. The year after he got back, he was pretty down, but he recovered nicely. He's going to the Games with me to mentor me. He already talked to the other victors to make sure that they are good with it. All of them, except Kasabian, think he is crazy for having me volunteer, but he knows that I will win.

This girl Droplet was chosen to volunteer this year, but she's never been too big of a fan of the careers. No matter how brutal the careers are, they are her best chance to get out of the Games and turning them down is just stupid. Tributes risk their lives to get in with the careers, and Droplet is just going to turn them down even though she has a free pass.

I'm too smart for my morals. I will be brutal if that's what I need to do to win. I know that I need to do what I need to do. If that means torturing a twelve year old, I won't like it, but I'll do it. I'm pretty sure that's how most of the careers think, but to get sponsors we have to be brutal.

I get back to the house with Darian and strip down in my room. I toss my soggy clothes into the hamper and pull on my nice blue dress shirt. I have a matching pair of blue pants and I am heading down to the square. I get there early with Darian and I bid him farewell before he goes up to the stage.

I go over to the sign-in stations and wait behind only one person before they prick my finger. It never hurts to be early. I look up to Darian and I can see him fist-bumping Kasabian. They won back to back games and were friends even before they went in. I guess I would be the third addition to the District 4 boy victor club if I won. Mags and Mayra are less pleased to be at the Reaping and instead of joking like Darian and Kasabian are, they are scanning the crowd. I wave to them and they smile at me before continuing scanning the crowd.

After a little while, the square fills up and our mayor does his little speech. After he finishes, our escort heads over to the girls' bowl and pulls a name. Droplet is up there very quickly.

The boys' name is pulled and I shout out. I clamber onto the stage and smile at Droplet. She smiles at me and we shake hands. I hope that I am the one to kill her.


	6. District 5: They Can't Control Us

**A/N (Glossy): **Here's the second Reaping of the day and this project is going marvelously so far. Thanks to everyone who is writing in this for making it possible.

**Arielle Seine, 15 (written by HestiaAbnegation11)**

**District 5 Female**

District Five. My district. The Hunger Games. The Twenty-Third. Those are the words flowing through my overly crowded brain. I have always been the smartest girl in the district, and everyone hated me. Well, maybe I was a little bit snobbish about it, but still.

Fifteen years later, after my birth is the year of the Twenty-third Hunger Games. I hate it I hate the Hunger Games the thing that they keep the noose around our throats. My mom tells me about what District Five did during the rebellion. We fell like a stone as soon as District Three fell. Well, two years ago, our tributes both died in the bloodbath, how about that for bad, huh?

"Get back to work!" Someone shouts at me.

I snap back to reality with a start and see my boss, Hana glaring at me. "Well, who is this? Miss Arielle Seine."

"Yes, boss." I gulp.

"You're lucky, you're young enough for the Reaping. You get the day off." Hana smirks.

I rush out of the power plant to my house, we are the 4th richest district after 1, 2, and 4. My mom says "Here's your dress." And hands it out to me.

My warm brown hair is a contrast to the dark green dress. It is pretty and I am bland, my straight hair falls close to the halfway down my back, and I say "Thanks mom"

"You're welcome honey." She whispers.

We drive to the Reaping, with my best friend, Fuller. I smile at him and he smirks back at me, impish grin creeping on his face. He's 18, and I'm 15. This is his last year of the Hunger Games. His name is in there 22 times, mine is in there 9 times. Tesserae, I did a couple slips, he did a lot though.

"Good luck." I whisper to Fuller and his impish grin fades.

"You too." He says.

We all bail out of the car in the Reaping parking lot. "Ugh, so many people are here!" My mom complains as we go outside.

We rush past people and after twenty minutes of waiting in line we get to the Capitol person. "Finger." She says to us.

Fuller and I extend our fingers and they prick them and put them onto the paper. Fuller leaves to the 18 year old section and I stand next to my nemesis, Patricia. She is one of the people that are so stupid it astounds me.

"Hello Arielle. How are you?" She asks with a fake smile?

Her blonde hair falls about to where my brown hair does, but hers is curly and pretty. All the guys love her, except Fuller for some reason. "Fine. How's Your Dumbness today?" I ask with a sinister smile.

"Smarty girl thinks she won't get reaped, but you don't know this one, Arielle. No one does." She thinks she's stumped me, but she hasn't.

"The Capitol knows. They always know, Patricia. Right now they are chuckling at District One, District Two, Three and Four. They are waiting for us. Whoever is chosen they already know." I say.

"Welcome to District Five!" Wendra Sonyrumple shouts!

"Let's get straight to the Reapings! Today we have the boy first. Let's go!" She shouts, pumped up.

"Niyko Kiyan." Wendra says quietly. The boy walks forward, and I recognize him he has ruffled black hair and brown eyes flecked with green, that's pretty cool.

"Now for the girls." I meet Fuller's eye across the room, and fear is in my eyes. He looks at me questioningly, but I know what's coming.

"Arielle Seine!" Wendra screams shrilly into the microphone.

Fuller's eyes shift downward as I walk forward defiantly, showing that they will not show that I didn't win against them. Because I did.

"Your tributes from District Five!"

The boy and I shake hands and walk into the Justice Building.

My first visitor is my mom and she is crying and I run into her arms. "My second to the Hunger Games!" She cries.

"What? I had a sister?" I ask, in disbelief?

"No, a brother. The year of the 13th Hunger Games. He was only 12." My mom says.

"What place did he get?" I ask?

"22nd. Died in the bloodbath. Killed by the boy from 12." Mom says.

"Oh." The Peacekeepers come to take her away and she claws at them screaming that this isn't the end.

My next visitor is Fuller, and I am glad. "Arielle. You knew, how did you know?" He asks?

The Peacekeepers, the ones at the Reaping. They were all betting on me. I saw them, they knew, I have keen senses, so I knew, but I don't tell Fuller that. "I just knew." I say.

"You can tell me." He pleads with me. But I know better, I see cameras, hidden in the woodwork, the table, the small specks.

"Goodbye, Fuller." I say turning around and the Peacekeepers take him away. Good, they took him away from me. At least he won't have to see me cry.

**Niyko Kiyan, 16 (written by Emimawi)**

**District 5 Male**

Does this darkness have a name?

I reach my hand up to the sky, as if to cup the sun in my hand. Though it's burning light blinds my eyes, I don't glace or wince once. In my hand is pure gold, pure light and energy.

It always comes back to energy, doesn't it?

There are twigs littering the forest floor, fallen from the number of trees that tower up to the sky, the ones that really are capturing the sun in their emerald leaves. They dig into my back, and every time I move they poke and twist, causing further pain and discomfort.

Do I deserve it?

It's a foolish mindset, really, and I know deep down that it's not me. To link the fact that I'm lying on some uncomfortable twigs to the fact that I deserve the pain is ridiculous, and honestly I wish my mind wouldn't connect such ridiculous things. It's stupid.

Really stupid.

God, I'm really pathetic, aren't I? But, on a day like reaping day- it's not like I can help being more depressed than I usually am. Everyone is more subdued today, sort of empty- from the though that the impossible might happen.

I'm really scared, and I'm not afraid to admit it. I try to push the thoughts, the possibilities from my mind- but all attempt fail… obviously. I lack the mental strength for that. If I was to be reaped, god forbid it, I wouldn't survive a day. The others, the ones who have trained their whole life would win. The ones from One and Two.  
>How did we get to this? To be forced to kill, but to kill willingly. To be willing to die, to turn into these… animals, these monsters just for some stupid glory. For the capitol to mock us, to turn us into their blind puppets for their entertainment.<p>

This cruelty, this hatred, how did it find us?

I'm not going to play that. Somehow, I'll find a way to rub it into their face. I don't care what happens, if they kill me.

I can die, for all I care.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" a voice cuts through the silence like a knife, springing me to my feet. A glance behind me, and it's nothing to be afraid of. Tessie.

She's one of my best friends, if not my best friend. There's just something about her snarky smile and the way that even though she's annoying, sarcastic and a bit insensitive, she's probably the best person ever.

"You scared me!" I laugh, picking up my glasses from the floor- they had fallen off when I leaped up. "I was kind of just daydreaming."

"Well, get your head out of the clouds, we're going to my house." she announces, flipping her black hair behind her. I grin, following her.

"What, are you going to make yourself look pretty for later? That's impossible, you know." My comment earns me a punch in the gut.

The truth is, I think Tessie is really pretty. I love her amber eyes and the way that she really does care even though she acts as though she doesn't. Still, I'd never tell her that. My outward self is very different from what's inside.

She races up the drive to her house, me following suit though she's much faster than me. However, the second I'm at the door, I find it locked. Tessie's on the other side, smirking at me and holding up the keys in a mock fashion. She holds up one finger, mouthing 'one minute.' before turning and racing up the stairs.

Obviously, she's gone to get ready, but I'm a bit miffed. Does she really not trust me? Did I do something wrong?

The sun is already high in the sky, and I can hear the subdued murmurs of the other teens in the district as they make their way down to the square, where the reapings are being held.

I wonder who will be picked this year.

It's not long before Tessie appears again, donned a lilac dress that makes her dark skin look radiant. I, however, just roll my eyes.  
>"Told you, impossible."<p>

We join the crowd of people heading down, and as we walk it seems a wave of anxiety falls over us. I duck my head, trying to avoid the crowd. I'm separated from Tessie a few times, yet manage to find her before we slip in.  
>"I'll see you soon." I say, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze before heading off to my roped off section near the middle.<p>

The escort, Wendra Sonyrumple has been the same for the past 7 years. Perhaps she's got an eternal candy high, or is on some drugs, but her screeching and excitement annoys me to no ends every year. Her joy reminds me of just how eager they are to see us die. And how willing some of us are.

What happened to us that we now send our children into the world like we send young men to war, hoping for their safe return, but knowing that some would be lost along the way.

Wendra gives us her token, lipstick stained, beam, wobbling dangerously on her high heels.  
>"I'm so excited!" she screeches, and I can see some boys around me covering their ears with their hands. She reminds me of an over-excited, over-coloured bird. I hate birds.<p>

"Let's get straight to the Reapings." Yes, let's get this over with. "Today, we have the boy first. Let's go!"  
>She patters to the other side of the stage, the only sound the clicking of her heels. Everything else is deathly silent.<p>

"Niyko Kiyan!" she says, scanning the audience like a animal looks for prey.

For a moment, I'm unsure of who that is- and I'm about to look around, when the gravity sinks in. Oh. She means me.

Honestly, all I feel is numbness as I walk up to the stage, and it feels like an age though it's only been a minute. A sob penetrates the silence, and even though I don't look in that direction, I know it's Tessie.

The girl tribute from my district is called Arielle, apparently. She's a year younger than me, with piercing eyes. She walks with a confidence, and I know she's thinking the same as me.

Let the Hunger Games begin. Let me show you that I won't comply. You can't control us all. And definitely not me.


	7. District 6 Reaping: Getting Rid of Them

**A/N (Glossy): **We are getting a ton of Reapings now. They will be due tomorrow night so make sure to get yours in!

**Violet Lamiale, 13 (written by oddtom)**

**District 6 Female**

The water is freezing cold as I dunk my head in the stream that runs through our part of town, and I wash my hair as quickly as possible. On any other day, I would just brush the tangles out, but we are required to look our best on reaping day. Last year, I showed up in my normal school clothes and ratty hair, and my family was fined a week's worth of pay.

My parents finally paid attention to me that week, though it wasn't quite the attention that I had had in mind. I would almost have rather had them ignore me, as they usually did, than have them yell at me like that. Banishing the thought from my mind, I turn to look at my best friend sitting next to me. "Ok, Sally, your turn!"

She seems to be hesitant, so I grab her and bodily dunk her into the stream. I make sure to pull all the tangles out of her hair before pulling her out.

"See? It's not that bad!" I look down at my doll with pride. Sally's perpetually happy face beams back up at me. When Elmer gave her to me, he told me that she came all the way from his home in District 2. I love hearing stories about his faraway home, and decide to pay him a visit before heading into the town square.

I dry off my hair as best as I can and run off to find Elmer before the reaping begins.

The leaves are falling all around, and the cool autumn breeze whips through my damp hair as I run toward town.

As usual, I find Elmer standing at his post guarding the east end of District 6. Though he looks like all the other scary peacekeepers, I know that inside, he's really just a big teddy bear. I have to pass this way every day going to school, and I don't think there's been a single day that I haven't seen him there. I once asked him if he ever got to sleep, and he just laughed at me. I don't remember if he ever actually disagreed with me, though.

"Elmer!" I yell, as I run up to him.

He holds out a high five for me, and I have to jump up to hit it.

"Vi! My main girl! How's it going? Ready for the big day?"

I nod and twirl around for him, showing off my reaping dress. He smiles at me, and gasps in wonder. "That's one fine outfit!" Then, he turns toward Sally and asks, "Hey Sally, is Violet giving you trouble again?" He winks at me and smiles as he says it.

We both laugh about it, and I bring up the sparkly white mountains in the distance. It seems like such a beautiful place to live, and I was thinking about moving there when I grow up.

He nods, looking out at the mountains in the distance. "Oh, it sure looks beautiful, but it is much different if you are actually there."

My eyes widen with excitement as I sense another of Elmer's exotic stories from District 2. He laughs at my intrigue and tells the tale of winters in the mountains of his home district. There, when winter rolled around, the rivers became solid, fluffly white speckles turned the ground solid white, and the air outside blew daggers into your skin.

I try to imagine what it would be like for the water in the stream to suddenly stand still, and I find that I simply can't. "If the water is solid, then how do you drink it? Do you have to chew it up like normal food?"

Elmer laughs again, a loud bellowing laugh, suddenly remembering that the closest I have ever experienced to a winter frost is what I can see in the distant mountains. He leans down and pats my shoulder fondly. "No, sweetie, that's when you have to dig. The water turns hard as rock, and you have to dig down to find the drinkable water beneath."

I clap my hands in excitement, as I imagine all the people of District 2 looking around for water like buried treasure. "Like a treasure hunt?"

Elmer nods, smiling at me. "Yea, sweetie, kind of like a treasure hunt. Except if you step in the wrong place, you're in for an unexpected bath." His smile suddenly falls, as he is plagued by memories from home that he would rather not have to relive.

I imagine the treasure hunters suddenly finding themselves at home in the bathtub, and giggle at the ridiculous thought.

Elmer sighs, recalling his childhood in some far off magical land, and we both stare up at the mountains in the distance, the white caps reflecting the bright sunlight. He suddenly breaks out of his thought and looks down at me. "Well, you better get going, sweetie. It's almost time. Tell you what: stop back by after the reaping and I'll tell you and Sally all about it."

I smile up at him and hug him around the waist. "Thanks, Elmer. You're the best!"

"Nowhere near, sweetie, but I try." He sighs as I release him, and he smiles fondly down at me and pats me on the shoulder again. "You make sure to stop by and visit more often."

I smile and wave as I skip past him and toward the town square. I yell back over my shoulder, "Sally and I will be back in a bit to hear those stories!"

**Bruno Belmonte, 18 (written by LokiThisIsMadness)**

**District 6 Male**

Thick. Thack. Thick. Thack. Thick. Thack.

Every minute that passes makes me even more nervous than I already am. Twenty minutes ago, the mayor's secretary recieved me and said that she would pass my message to the mayor, who would see me before the reapings. Until now, she didn't come back.

I can't leave for the reapings before I talk to him, though. He's the mayor, I'm sure he could give some kind of excuse to Peacekeepers about me being late. After all, it's the first real clue I've found in two years. To be exact, twenty five months and two weeks ago, my older sister disappeared without a trace. Bex, who was the best person I ever met, was found dead in an alley. When the Head Peacekeeper told me, I remember that I didn't listen to a single he said after I heard the word "dead."

Bex, my big sister and best friend, was dead. I don't remember what happened in the next eight months besides one thing, my girlfriend Mattie. She was the only who stayed with him, until the end. I was only a kid back then, after all. One year ago, I started following the clues. They weren't many, of course, because who would care about a twenty five year old that ended up dead in an alley, in a district where morphling was as common as water? I talked to people who knew her, even people that saw her pass by that day. Everyone knew my sister but no one had the answers I wanted. Only now, two years later, I got the clue that led me to being here today, one hour before the reapings for the twenty third Hunger Games.

Unlike the others, I wasn't afraid. Or well, maybe I was, but not for me. If I was reaped and died, I guess there would be a big chance that I would join my sister again. But if I won, I could finally get the money to figure out who the hell took my sister from me.

Suddenly, the door opens and I stand up, while trying to stop my hands from shaking. This is it, I think.

C'mon Bruno, don't give up now.

"The mayor will see you now, Mr. Belmonte." She smiles and walks away, leaving the door open for me. Inside, I can see the mayor.

I take a deep breath, put a smile on my face and walk in. Mayor Amacrox is a middle aged man, with dark red hair and dark eyes, like most of the population from District Six. Mattie's father knows him, I think.

"Sir, thank you for meeting with me. I'm Bruno Belmonte. It's a pleasure to meet you." He nodds and gestures for me to sit down.

"So, Mr. Belmonte, what is this about? I hope you have a good reason to bother me an hour before the reaping."

I take a deep breath. "Mr. Mayor, this is about my sister. Bex Belmonte. You and the Head Peacekeeper brought me into your office so you could give me the news. I think you might remember that?"

I watch his expression, while trying figure out if he knows anything or not. If he does, I sincerly hope that he'll tell me so we can end this, once and for all. If not, I might as well volunteer today and end all of this pain.

The mayor clears his throat. "Yes, I do remember. Now, what could you possiby want with me, one year later?"

He's right. I should have come sooner but I didn't, and know I shouod make up an excuse for that. "I apologize, Mr. Amacrox, but I was sick. I spent that much time in an hospital, trying to recover, but I only got out now. I heard that my sister came to see you in the day she died."

I study his face, to check for any signs of a reaction in there. Just as I expected, there is nothing, but I can't help but being disappointed.

Even though his answer is quite suprising. "Yes, she was here. You should leave, Mr. Belmonte. You'll be late for the reaping."

I can't stop myself. "What did she say?! Why was she here? WHAT DID YOU DO?!" Before I can react and do something else, the Peacekeepers burst in and pick me up, dragg me to to the entrance of the justice building, and close the doors.

I get up, trying to understand what just happened. Mattie was right all along. It was the mayor, with his charming smile and web of lies, that killed my sister. My Bex. And now, I couldn't even make him pay for it. When I thought of my sister's killer before this, I always imagined someone that I could take down. A criminal, a bastard, I didn't care. All that mattered was that I could take him down. Or at least I hoped so, in my wildest dreams.

I walk to the square, almost crashing into Mattie. "Hey, babe." She lifts an eyebrow when she realizes that something is wrong but I smile a little, trying to show her that she doesn't need to worry about. Not for now, at least.

Mattie always knew that there was something wrong with me, just by looking at my face. That is probably part of why I love her so much. She was the only one that was there when Bex died, that stayed with me. I will never be able to thank her enough.

Once the escort starts the reapings, I walk over to my place in the eighteen year old section. One more year and I'll be done with this. Free from the reapings and free for the Hunger Games. I can hardly wait.

"Violet Lamiale!" The girls in the thirteen year section part, and a small girl with dark hair skips out. The girl looks strangely excited for someone who has just been called to her death. The girl looks childish, holding tight to a small doll as she approaches the stage. It doesn't reflect a great image for our district, but at least we don't have another tiny, sobbing twelve-year-old this year. Either way, though, once again, I see that District Six has no chance of winning.

It's only when she calls my name that I realize that maybe this was the mayor's plan all along. First Bex, then me.

Well, good luck with that.


	8. District 7: Running to Victory

**A/N (Glossy): **Well lookie here. Our first chapter is already up. Let's sign up so we can fill those last spots and get going!

**Jezebel Kalhsi, 17 (written by LoxFox)**

**District 7 Female**

Oh yeah. I'm nervous. I'm just not going to let anyone see it.

'You seem a little off today,' Islay notices, picking her stick off the floor and starting again. She's relentless in her training, ruthless and unforgiving, quick to point out my weaknesses, and anything but concerned for my welfare.

'Of course I'm a little off,' I reply, cautious as I slide around from underneath her swipe at me, disarming her with a sharp jab to her inner arm. 'You know I'm going in.'

Islay counters with a sharp headbutt that stops just short of my temple. Don't want to compromise the stock before they go in for inspection. 'This year? Jez, I don't know if you're ready for this- it's quite a leap from me trying to hit you with a stick, to the careers that are out to get you for good, you know.'

I give her my best unimpressed stare while I steal the stick that we pretend is a sword for training purposes, running it towards her chest, stopping when it touches the skin. 'Stab,' I say, dully and sardonic. 'Urk. Dead. And you tell me I'm not ready?' I ask, waiting for a response. 'This time next year, I'll have blown my chances. They shove me off to boarding school when I turn eighteen, and I can't train while I'm learning about how to be a perfect little diplomat, can I?' I shrug, then pull out my bag as we settle down together.

Sharing breakfast as we watch the sunrise over the forests that litter the edge of our district, we recap the patterns used in combat, the etiquette for the games, everything. We do make an odd pair; Islay dated my brother for a while, but when she went off to become a peacekeeper he found himself a respectable job and settled for someone else. I couldn't settle for normalcy, instead driving my spitefulness towards my parents into fighting and training like a demon. Maybe when I win, maybe then they might pay attention to me. They'll have to. Or if I die in that arena- which, by the way, I don't plan on doing- they will realise how much they should have done something while they could still love me. Then they'll see, then they'll see.

'So, when I win,' I say through a mouthful of glazed pastry and fruit, 'then what? You get a quarter- at least, I think that's what we agreed.' I inspect my flawless fingernails, ensuring they're all neat and tidy; I want to make an impression when I go up onstage, and everything has to be perfect when I do.

Islay hums in reply. 'You sure you wanna do this?' She enquires, politely but with an inkling of worry. 'I mean, I'm not gonna judge you if you back out now. It's been fun, all this, but I don't know…'

'Nah. Not a chance. You think I dropped out of history classes to back down? I'm not giving up anything, not now.' I affix her with a potent stare. 'Wish me luck, I'm going to do it, no matter what.' I drop off the wall we're seated on, grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder, and toss her helmet over, as she prepares her uniform, ready for the main event. 'Thanks, though,' I smile, and then rush off to get ready.

I have the house to myself most days, and whenever my parents are in, they're always too busy doing their far-more-important-than-me jobs; they make a lot of money, so we can afford pretty good housing, but it means they never have any attention left over to look after their kids. Still, preparation for the reapings doesn't take too long, and I throw on my dress, arranging it so I look stunning; classy-stunning, not just slutty-stunning. The girl who tried that a few years ago got molested by peacekeepers. And as willing as I am to play into the Capitol's hands, I'm not about to do so literally.

Final touches, and I add a bit of make-up, accentuating the almond shape of my eyes, then snarl at my face in the mirror and brace myself. From here on out, I'm going to be something different; I'm not pretty, submissive little Jez. I'll be a traitorously sly Jezebel, and the others will fall beneath my feet. These games are mine for the taking.

Reaping days are a big event anywhere, and Seven is no exception. There's an uneasily quiet bustling around the worn as people hug their kiddies tight, the fickly comforts before sending them off to be reaped; like a warning, the crows caw, shattering the silence. It's a morbid death cry to the unfortunates who will be reaped.

Well, one unfortunate. Singular. Someone's going to owe me big-time for this, what I'm about to do, a real get out of jail free card. Leisurely, I stroll towards the area, then recite my name and prick my finger, the single drop of crimson staining the page. It hurts a little, and I want to make a show of it, but I know that I'll more than do so in mere minutes from now. I just hope my parents appreciate the gesture.

Smoothing down the folds of my reaping dress, waves of indigo and violet tumbling down my form, I take my place in the square, impatiently staring at the stage as I wait for something to happen. Idly, I twirl a thick strand of dark, loosely curled hair between my fingers, and stare to the sky for reassurance. What I'm about to do is going to drive them crazy. Possibly me too, but I reckon I'll make it through. I've been preparing for years, almost as long as the careers, and nothing's going to stop me now. After a moment, they call a name, and I stand tall and I volunteer. I'm going to own these games.

So watch the queen conquer.

**Paulo Bellamy, 17 (written by Glossy-12)**

**District 7 Male**

Reaping day. It's the same horrible thing every year, two kids are taken away and they always die. District 7, although being one of the strongest districts, isn't a winning district. We usually have decent tributes who fight their way through the Games with axes, but when it comes down to it, smarter or better trained tributes kill them.

I'm part of a pretty well of family. We have food to eat, a place to live, and I even have time to pursue my hobby. I love to run and I can run all day if I have the time. I never do though. I have to work in the lumberyards to help my family financially. I dropped out of school when I turned 16 because... what's the point when we are all just going to end up as lumberjacks anyways? I may as well start making money as quick as possible and maybe, if I'm lucky, I could get a promotion.

It's early in the morning now, and I slip out of the house quietly without awaking my family. I grave my sweatshirt from the hook on the door and look out at the sunrise. It is quite lovely early in the morning, so I always run before I have to go to work.

As my feet glide over the dirt road, my mind wanders to the Reaping. It's a brand new gamemaker this year and he said that he's going to be better than Danus. There's no way that that is a good sign for us in the districts.

I run past the nicest parts of the District, the uninhabited Victor's Village, the mayor's house, the merchant neighborhood, and the Justice Building. Peacekeepers are already buzzing around the square setting up cameras and sniping positions.

I return home after about an hour and I can see my family already walking around. I swing the door open and smile.

"Hey Paulo. Good morning, huh." My older brother greets me over his toast.

"Yeah. It was a nice morning for a run, but it is truly unfortunate that such a good day will be spoiled by the death of two of our citizens."

"Well... what are ya gunna do?"

I crack a smile and go to sit down at the countertop where my brothers are already eating. I don't really look like I am related to them; they are all muscular from working in the lumberyards, while I am fairly lean. Not that I don't have muscle, it's just that I don't have nearly as much as them.

People are always saying that this year will be our year and that we might get a victor. It doesn't matter. What good does it do if we win? We still have to send tributes, and as far as I am concerned, that is not that great. Yeah, we'd have a mentor, but one tribute would still be dying each year no matter what. Even the most successful districts only have a handful of victors.

After I finish eating my toast, I go to our bathroom and pull on a gray shirt and brown pants. We don't have enough money for me to show up to the Reaping dressed well so I do what I can. I'm the only one left in my family still eligible for the Reaping and I'll be out soon too.

I wish I could jog to the Reaping, but there are too many people clogging up the streets. I'll just have to manage with walking. I arrive after a short walk and I head over to the sign-in counters. The woman there pricks my finger and puts the blood on the paper, just like every year. I walk over to my section and wait. The ceremony starts fairly quickly and before I know it, there is a girl standing on the stage. I know her, she was in my 9th grade PE class. I never saw her in the lumberyards so she must have stayed in school or gotten a job working for a merchant.

Our escort's hand dips into the boys bowl and I crane my neck for the name. "Paulo Bellamy." No way. I only had two more years to go, but now they are sending me in. This could not have gone more horribly. I make my way to the stage and shake Jezebel's hand. I guess I'm going to get to run a lot.


	9. District 8: Nerves on Edge

**A/N (Glossy):** We are getting a ton of submissions now. This is great and work on your Reapings everyone.

**Adalyn Rhodes, 14 (written by Elim9)  
>District Eight Female<strong>

The silence is unnerving.

Seven people in our house, all silent. All dreading, fearing the worst, but none of us willing to say it. They're afraid. Afraid for me, the oldest. The only one eligible for the reaping. Next year, Francine will join me. Then Everett, two years later. Then Casper, the year after that. Then Coraline, three years later.

But I have to go first.

I usually don't mind being first. With four younger siblings, it happens a lot. But this is one time when I'd really, _really _like to be last.

At last, I can't stand the silence any more. "It won't be me!" I insist. "It won't. Really."

But I don't know that any more than they do. My name is in the bowl twenty-four times. Three times, because it has to be – because I'm fourteen – and seven more every year for tesserae for myself, both of my parents, and my four younger siblings. Twenty-four slips with my name.

But that's still only twenty-four out of thousands. Tens of thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands. So, no, I don't _know _that it won't be me, but it _probably _won't.

Probably.

We eat breakfast in a terrible silence, not wanting to say anything about the reaping, but unable to find another topic. Finally, I scoot over next to Coraline and squeeze her hand. "Tell you what. When we get back from the reaping, I'll let you try on my dress. How does that sound?"

It sounds wonderful, of course. But only because it means I'll be coming back from the reaping. That's all they want. It's all I want, too.

Maybe it's all anyone wants today.

We head for the square together, but, once we get there, I'm on my own. Separated from my younger siblings, I settle into the fourteen-year-old section with a small group of friends. Watching. Waiting.

I hate waiting.

It would be better if they would just call the names right away and get it over with, but, instead, we have to sit through the treaty. And the Capitol video. And a short speech by the mayor. _And_ the escort, Gaius Chantell, bubbling about how happy he is to have so many victors already – more than any other non-Career district.

Which is impressive, I suppose, but it doesn't make the waiting any easier.

Finally, Gaius finds his way over to the reaping bowl and plunges a hand in. He swishes the slips around for a while before deciding on one, then pulls it out and reads the name.

"Adalyn Rhodes!"

My throat tightens. Me? Tens of thousands of slips, and he picked _me_? No. No, he must have read the name wrong. There must be some sort of mistake. Maybe he said Addison Rose. I think there's an Addison Rose a few years ahead of me. Yes, that must be it.

He can't have picked _me_.

Then I see the Peacekeepers coming towards me. Towards _me_. One of them grips my arm and starts dragging me towards the stage. I stumble along behind him, dazed, still hoping that someone will tell them there was a mistake. That someone will wake me up. That this is all a dream.

But no one does anything. No one says anything. They just leave me standing onstage, trembling, alone.

Waiting.

I don't have to wait long. Gaius reaches into the second bowl and draws another name, unfolding it a bit more quickly this time.

"Jeremiah Garner!"

The thirteen-year-old section parts around a boy in a brown button-down shirt and a pair of khakis, both clearly too big for him, probably handed down from an older sibling. He's a little shorter than me, with dark skin and short black hair.

For a moment, he simply stands there. Then he looks around. Waiting for something. Maybe hoping that someone else will step forward. But no one does. So the boy clenches his fists and takes a few steps forward. Then a few more.

Soon, he's standing next to me on the stage, his deep brown eyes wide with terror. I try to smile a little, but I know I look just as frightened. Still, he returns my shaky smile and reaches out a hand.

Without hesitating, I pull him into a hug, instead.

* * *

><p><strong>Jeremiah Garner, 13 (written by Elim9)<br>District Eight Male**

The noise is unnerving.

Seven people in our house, all bustling about. All trying to get ready. All keeping busy, because it's easier to keep busy than to stop and think about what could happen. Who we could lose today.

All five of us, after all, are eligible for the reaping. But it's the last time we'll have to say that. After this year, the twins – Jameson and Jefferson – will be safe. Then, two years later, Jemimah. Then Jedediah the year after that.

And then me.

I try not to mind being last. With four older siblings, it happens a lot. But this is one time when I'd really, _really _like to be first.

Then again, being older would also mean more tesserae, and I have enough as it is. My name's in sixteen times today – two because I'm thirteen, and then tesserae for myself and my family.

But the others have more. There are plenty of people with more. It probably won't be any of us. It probably won't even be anyone we know.

Probably.

But, in some corner of my mind, I know that every other teenager in the district is thinking the same thing. _It probably won't be me_. By the end of the day, most of us will be right.

But two of us will be wrong.

We head to the square together, still rushing, bustling, as if worried that we might be late. We won't be. We've never been late. No one ever is.

No one would dare.

The five of us head for the roped-off sections, and I take my place with the other thirteen-year-olds. A few nod in my direction, but most of them ignore me. I keep to the edge of the section, hoping now more than ever to go unnoticed, to not be singled out.

Because being singled out today means death.

I'm not kidding myself, despite the escort's ramblings about District Eight having more victors than any other non-Career district. While that may be true, it doesn't mean that I have a chance. The victors were all older than me. All stronger. More like my brothers.

My brothers might have a chance.

_Stop it_. They won't be picked. I won't be picked.

Probably.

Gaius makes his way over to the first reaping bowl and draws a name. He unfolds it slowly, as if he takes some sick pleasure in making us wait. Making us sweat. Making us hold our breaths.

"Adalyn Rhodes!"

The fourteen-year-old section parts around a girl in a shapeless grey dress and black sandals. She's a little taller than me, with medium brown skin and dark, wavy hair that reaches her shoulders.

For a moment, she simply stands there, shaking her head in disbelief and denial. But it doesn't do any good. Soon, the Peacekeepers come for her and drag her to the stage, where she stands, trembling, waiting for the next name to be called.

I swallow hard. I feel sorry for her, of course. Who wouldn't? But all I can think of is how grateful I am that it's not Jemimah.

Now I just have to hope that it's not Jameson, Jefferson, Jedediah … or me.

Gaius reaches into the bowl again and draws a name. He smiles a little as he unfolds it, waiting to reveal his second victim.

"Jeremiah Garner!"

I freeze. Me? He picked me? How could he pick _me_?

I glance around frantically, and my gaze quickly finds my brothers. But they look away. I suppose I can't really blame them. It's Jameson and Jefferson's last year. Why should they volunteer, when they'll be safe after today? Safe from the Games forever. And Jedediah – How can I ask him to volunteer for me? What makes my life worth any more than his?

No. No, they won't volunteer. And maybe they shouldn't. Maybe, out of the five of us … maybe it's better if it's me.

At last, slowly, I make my way to the stage. Up the steps. Next to my district partner, who tries to smile a little despite the tears in her dark brown eyes. Trying to encourage me. Trying to pretend we haven't just been sentenced to death.

So I pretend, too. I try to smile back a little, but I can tell it's a shaky smile. Still, maybe it's better than nothing. I hold out my hand.

Without hesitating, she pulls me into a hug, instead.


	10. District 9: Youngsters

**A/N (Glossy): **This is the final Reaping! Tell me what tributes you like the best! I know my POV is short, but I really didn't want this character so it's what we got.

**Sage Tressney, 14 (written by stuckathomebgs)**

**District 9 Female**

I dash though the streets of District 9, with the stolen bread in my jacket, warming me up as I rush away from the storeowner. He is cursing my family, guessing other people I don't know named 'Rye' and 'Hailey'.

I get back to my family of eight, my father, 6 younger brothers, and the youngest, little Genie, at 3.

My father sighs a lot, for many reasons, relief and exhaustion mostly, but this time, it's a mixture of both. He has been pretty depressed since my mom was crushed by corn in a grain bin accident a couple of years ago, the impact hit me and Baxter, the oldest of the brothers, at 13. We were old enough to know that mom wasn't coming back, that was also the first reaping I attended.

I was very scared that year, because they called the girl standing next to me. I still remember her name, 'Delia Fullerton'. Why do I remember? She was my best friend.

She was one of only two twelve year olds, but she still lasted longer than half of the Careers. She got 7th Place, killed by the boy from District 4, who ended up winning that slaughter-fest two years ago. When he came, I screamed at him, got lots of publicity, I didn't love it one bit.

I slip on the light red dress that I've wore for the other two reapings I've been to, including when Delia got reaped. This also was my moms, so this dress has been through two generations of pain.

I saunter into the square with Baxter, we are the only two of our family that have to be here, but I see my father and the other six children moving into the viewing area.

"Finger, please." Says an older male Capitol attendant.

I point it out and she draws my blood, the sting doesn't hurt, since people like me get used to constant pain and suffering.

I lead Baxter over to the boys.

"Good luck, Sage." Baxter has tears in his eyes, I wipe them away.

"You too, Baxter, you only have your name in that cursed bowl twice, you shouldn't get chosen." I respond.

"But you have thirteen." He starts crying now, he's very emotional.

"There are girls with at least two times what I have, I have little chance I could get reaped." I mutter

"But anything could happen, there's been a lot of fourteen-year-olds from this district." Baxter states, he always knows a lot about this kind of stuff.

I also ponder how we get victors in the first place. 1, 2, and 4 are trained, 3 knows technology and is smart, and 10, 11, and 12 know how to go without food. 7 can use axes, 8 can use needles and can knit blankets. 11 also knows what food to eat, 5 can electrocute. Only we and District 6 are at a disadvantage, well, at least I know how to steal and what food to eat, since I work in a grain processing plant.

Finally Mayor Ikusaki starts his speech. He introduces our two victors, Merce Raske, who was the victor of the 1st ever Hunger Games. She won by using spears to take out her tributes.

The other victor being Ronny Pinsen, who used a sickle to take out his competition.

Since she was the first victor, she the richest person in the districts, and she doesn't share her money.

We still have some honey and chives from Parcel Days when she won.

When Ikusaki finally finishes his speech, our District 9 escort, Jerusibald Pennyfarthing, starts the process we've all been waiting for, the reaping.

"WELCOME CITIZENS OF DISTRICT 9!" Shouts Jerusibald. No one claps, thanks the lord, but Jerusibald is used to this, since this happens every year. Which was kind of sad his first year, the 7th Hunger Games, he almost started crying. I almost felt bad for him, remember the almost.

"First, for the girls!" He

That moment seems frozen in time, girls is ringing in my ears, I'm holding both of the girls' hands next to me, both of which I've never spoken to in my life. That's when he pulls out the slip. The slip of the unlucky girl aged between twelve and eighteen. Both girls next to me are crying, I am their tree, they are gripped onto my arms like they're already dying from some theoretical wound. The name is read, after what seems like an eternity of silence that was burning my ears.

"Sage Tressney." Jerusibald says.

I'm about to walk up when another girl starts crying, from the sixteen-year-olds.

"WAIT! There are two Sage Tressney's?" He asks.

I raise my hand, and so does the other girl.

"This Sage Tressney is fourteen." He says, reading extra information from what I know is my slip.

The other girl switches gears and starts laughing while I walk up to the podium, giving her a glare. She laughs until she sees my face than stops, her white cheeks turning even redder than my dress. I'm even younger than her and very much smaller than her.

I see Baxter crying, I look over to the two girls I was standing in between, whose faces haven't registered the moment quite yet.

Baxter was right, I guess I was next, fourteen-year-olds almost always get picked, and I'm one of them.

The boy gets selected.

Right away my family comes in, with all eight of them entering, all of them have tears in their eyes, except Genie, who hasn't registered the moment quite yet, since she's so young.

"You can win, Sage." Says Winston, the next oldest after Baxter. "You're smart, you're sneaky, you can win."

"Smarts have worked in the past." Says Quent, one of the triplets. "Merce knows what she's doing, you can come home."

That's when the hopes come flooding in, Genie starts chanting my name when the Peacekeepers bring them out, thankfully pretty peacefully.

I can still hear Genie's voice when I get onto the train.

**Samson Quickley, 15 (written by Glossy-12)**

**District 9 Male**

Crash!

The lamp falls over and shatters on the ground. I can't stop now though. I need to steal this jewelry if I want to be able to get my fix.

Nobody ever thinks of District 9 as a morphling district, but trust me, if you know who to talk to, you can get it pretty easily. My life has fallen to pieces when I'm not high, but during the high, I just forget about all of my problems.

I hear a door open and I swing my fist at the person entering the room. They sink to the floor like a rock and I bolt out of the room. I've got my jewelry, I don't need anything else.

I run through the district back to my shack. I swing open the door and run past my mom into my room. I shove the jewelry under my bed and head back out.

"Hey mom."

"Hi Samson. Where were you this morning?"

"I was just out for a run." I guess that's kind of true after all. I've got my parents completely fooled. They have no idea that there is even a drop of morphling in this district.

"Ok, well make sure to eat some food. We have eggs." She sets the plate down right in front of me and I dig into the eggs. We don't have them very often so when we do I have to make sure I take advantage of the occasion.

I don't bother changing for the Reaping. There is really not a point. I head over to the square and sign in.

Our mayor takes the stage and introduces Jerusibald who in turn introduces our two victors. Merce and Ronny both give a little wave and then Jerusibald heads over to the Reaping bowl. His hand dips in and grabs a slip. "Sage Tressney."

I don't recognize the names, but a girl in the sixteen year old section breaks down crying. Another girl steps forward and Jerusibald announces that it is a fourteen year old. If I was that girl I would've stayed quiet and let the sixteen year old go in my place.

Jerusibald heads over to the boys' bowl and snags a name. "Samson Quickley."

Looks like I'm going into the Games. I walk up to the stage and shake Sage's hand. It's go time.


	11. District 10: Rancher Kids

**A/N (Glossy): **I picked up the boy from 9, so I have four now. The blog is up and the link is on my profile!

**Thyme Flanvia, 16 (written by HestiaAbnegation11)**

**District 10 Female**

District Ten. I hate it, I basically hate people, my slim body, because we are a really poor district. This morning, I am out in one of my jobs to butcher cattle. I slice open the cow and take out the meat that we could eat. I give it to the people that own the ranch and they pay me a gold ring. "Thanks." I say.

These people are by far the nicest people in the district, this is the only nice thing I have. It's okay, today is Reaping day today, and I walk back to the city of District Ten.

"Thyme!" Someone shouts as I walk down the streets, and this hulking person is in front of me.

Of course, the meanest girl at school, Esther is in front of me. I push past her and she thumps onto the ground. I walk back to my home after that, and my mom greets me with a new outfit for the Reaping. It's a gold top with a golden skirt, this is new, something new is never at my house, ever.

"Thanks mom, it must have cost a fortune!" I exclaim.

"It did. About $300 each, but we had enough, and some to buy bread." She says handing me a slice of bread.

I take it and nibble on it, before going upstairs to look at myself in the mirror. Luckily, I have no freckles or else I would look really ugly, but I love my red hair. It's amazing and pretty even if no one else thinks so. "Sissy!" Someone shouts from the doorway.

My little brother, Tom, is ten, and I work at four jobs to keep him in school. Three butchering jobs and one ranching job each day.

"Tom!" I shout and he runs into my arms, he's thin today, thinner than usual.

"Tom wait here, I am going to talk to mommy for a little bit." I say and go down the wooden stairs.

"Mother, what's wrong with Tom today?" I ask?

"While you were at your butchering job, I called the doctor and he said that Tom had the plague. It's sweeping District Ten. We barely have enough money for an antidote; it's coming in four days."

"Am I immune?" I ask?

"Yes. Since you had it five months ago and lived, you are fine, he refuses to eat though. It's worrying me." She says picking up her purse and getting ready to go to the Reaping.

"Bye Tom!" I shout as we go out the door.

"Welcome to District Ten." The Capitol lady says when we arrive to get our fingers pricked. They take mine then my mother's they do it to get the census basically.

To keep us all in check. To keep the iron noose around District Ten's throat. We see rebellions on the TV all the time, mostly from District Eight or from District Eleven.

"Live from District Ten here are the Reapings!" Kansas Swashly shouts to us.

"We are going to have a fun day, aren't we District Ten!?" He asks us?

"First the boys." He shouts.

"Willem Wexler!" Kansas shouts and the boy walks forward. Willem is a strong boy and works on one of the ranches. If I remember correctly, he's pretty good with a lasso too.

"Now for the girl from District Ten!" Kansas says excitedly.

"Thyme Flanvia!" He smiles as I walk forward with my head high.

"Shake hands." He says to me and the tribute boy. I shake his hand and he shouts "District Ten!"

I realize with a start, I have no mentor, none.

My only visitor is my mom, she walks in proudly, like she's the proudest person in the district. "Good luck, Thyme, you'll do fine." She says.

"Thanks." The peacekeepers come early, luckily. They take her away and I am left to sit in silence.

**Willem Wexler, 18 (written by Glossy-12)**

The air runs through my hair as my horse gallops towards the cow. This little calf decided to wander away from the group. I swing the lasso above my head and release is sending it careening towards the little cow. The cow falls over and I drag it back to the herd.

Today is the Reaping and that is unsettling at best. We never do that well, but occasionally we have a tribute that does well. I'm almost free from the Reaping and this time next year I'll be free. I'm glad too. The new gamemaker just announced that there will be something called a Quarter Quell every twenty-five years and it sounds pretty brutal. There is going to be some kind of extra twist and in no way could that be good.

I no longer live with my family, but I keep in touch. It's just me and my parents, and to be honest, I suspect that I was a mistake. My mom had me when she was sixteen, so she was still eligible for the Hunger Games! Luckily, neither her or my father were reaped and they were able to raise me as well as they could.

I jump off of my horse and my feet hit the ground of the barn. I unsaddle my horse, Buttercup, and put it on its hook. I open up the bag of sugar cubes and toss him one while pocketing another. They are really meant for the horses, but everyone looks the other way if you take one. They are only sugar cubes afterall.

"Hey Willem." I look up to see my boss, Mr. Perren, walking towards me.

"Hello Mr. Perren. It's nice to see you this morning."

He nods and looks at me. "Are you still eligible Willem?"

"Yes sir, but I'm sure they won't pick me. I never had to take any tessera."

"That's good Willem. I don't want to lose such a hardworker."

"Thank you sir."

"Good luck today Willem. Be careful." He looks at my pocket with that last comment. The peacekeepers supply the sugar cubes and they beat people who they suspect of taking them. I'm careful, I only take one here, or two there, but never a ton at once. I'm too smart for that.

I walk back into town from the stables and go right to the Reaping the way I am. I would go change, but I figure that I won't get reaped and there is really no point in spending my money on clothes to wear once a year.

I arrive at the square and head over to the sign-in stations. I stick out my hand and roll up my sleeve. The man at the station pricks it and it reads my name on her little sensor. I smile at her and walk off silently. I head over to the eighteen year old boys and greet some of my old coworkers and schoolmates. We are all so excited for it to be our final year. The mayor boards the stage and we all wish each other luck.

The mayor does his boring little speech, and then our escort, Kansas something or other, takes the stage.

"Live from District Ten here are the Reapings!" Kansas Swashly shouts to us.

"We are going to have a fun day, aren't we District Ten!?" He asks us?

Please, there is no possible way that the Reapings are fun.

"First the boys." He shouts.

"Willem Wexler!"

Really, my last year and I get chosen. I make my way to the stage and stand next to him.

A sixteen year old girl is chosen and she looks pretty tough. Not as tough as the careers usually are, but I think she'll do fine. I hope that I get to ride a horse before I die.


	12. District 11: Good As Dead

**A/N (Glossy): **It would be really nice if one of you would grab D9 boy. Also please review!

**Cane Soy, 17 (written by epictomguy)**

**District 11 Male**

The sun shines in through the grotty window of my shack in district day seems special, but I can't quite put my finger on what it the worst day of all. It's reaping day.

I put on my best clothes and rush into the main see in district 11 all the houses are the same three rooms: a kitchen, a bedroom and a dining room. Apparently in the richer districts like 1,2 and 4 they have about 8 rooms in a house where if you are born in the poorer districts you basically live outside, well we don't actually have any time to go into the house everyone in 11 is so overworked 1 in 5 people die of overworking. How do I know that? Well you see my dad died of you see my dad died just like that. Working for 17 hours a day not a single day off normally on Sundays you get the day off well that's if your employer is nice. The only other day of is reaping day and whilst the rest of the hunger games is on they put a projector on in the fields giving you live cover of your districts tributes.

I then see the only light in my probably the only optimistic thing in the whole of likes him. Well the only thing that's bad about him is how he is constantly bothering you with questions, well he is only 8.

"Cane!" he shouts at me .he hugs me wrapping his bony arms around me. I try to push him off and he looks sadly at me,

"What's wrong?"

"The capitol is wrong that's what wrong," he looks at me trying to translate what I said into words that he could understand, "Its reaping day." I said plainly.

After that it's all silent he says nothing and avoids me as I walk to the town centre. I stand in the 17 year old boys section. Then I think. What happens if I get reaped? What happens if I die in the hunger games? What if my brother can't get enough food for himself? What if he starves? No. .

By the time that I realise that if I am reaped it means death for me it means death for my brother to, the first tribute has been chosen. She looks like an average tribute for district 11 with a large bun black hair brown eyes. I haven't seen her before, they all look the same.

Then the escort rummages around for the second person that is secured a place in being shipped backed to district 11 in a few weeks, dead.

She calls out a name in her capitol accent,

"Cane Soy, "somehow that name I remember. Then I realise. That's me…

My brother ran into the small cell and hugged me.

"Cane! Cane! You can win it for me Cane!" he has a smile on his face not knowing about the probability of my imminent death.

"I will try my best, I will. For everyone."

His beam turns into a more serious look as I give him some advice,

"Firstly, don't steal from the meadows any more. It's not safe, if you get caught you will be executed.

Secondly try to train in the fields so if you get reaped to have a chance of winning,

Thirdly don't take as much tesserae as I do it's not safe.

So lastly can you promise to me that you will be strong and even if I don't win you won't cry and die like mother but you will keep working."

He says proudly," I will stay strong for you brother I will!"

We hug and then we look each other in the eye and I tell him the truth about the hunger games,

"You know when I told you that if you don't win the hunger games you came back to the person you love most. I kind of made a white lie you do come back but not alive you see the hunger games is a fight to the death..." just at that moment a peacekeeper comes in and calls my brother to come out then I just cry…

**Ophelia Norse, 15 (written by mykindleisawesome)**

**District 11 Female**

I let my mom finish brushing out my short black hair, it just reaches my shoulders today. Because of the- Never mind. Somehow, my hair got a bit of curl in it, and that touch of curl makes me look elegant, beautiful.

I'm wearing a green dress, one strap, it hugs my body perfectly and goes just below my knees. It's perfect. My favorite dress now, mom bought it for me just for the reaping. For a family in District Eleven, we're very well off. My dad died a couple years ago, and he must've had a secret life or something, there was a huge cache of money left behind.

We've been saving it, and with mom still working full time, my brother and I don't have to work as much. Sure, when it's harvesting time, they still make us work our butts off, but it's somehow easier on us. As long as we don't screw anything up, we're set for a long time.

She begins to knot it with her delicate fingers, and my hair is held up by a plethora of pins. It's in a bun, two braids at the front of my hair, leading into a bun at the back.

Some say I look exactly like all of the other 15 year old girls here, but that's not true. I look healthier than a lot of them, and happier by far.

"Thanks, Mom!" I call as I run out the door. "Sorry, gotta meet Elyssa before the reapings!" She quickly waves goodbye, and then I'm out the door, running down the street.

I run into her, literally, right outside her house. We both fall in the dirt, rolling over one another. Startled, I shriek and stand up, trying to dust off my dress. Mom will kill me!

"Oh Ophelia, don't worry so much about your dress!" Alyssa gets up as well, she's a complete doll. Her dress is gold, with some green swirly accents we put on there for her.

I giggle. "Yeah, worry about yours! It's so pretty, it would be a shame if it was ruined." We begin to walk towards the reapings, we're getting a bit short on time.

"Aww, thanks Ophelia!" Elyssa gives me a one arm hug. "You're such a great friend."

* * *

><p>We reach the town square a tad bit early, and go over to check in. There's about five people there, and huge lines are at each one. I sigh. This is one of the bad things about being in District Eleven. There are <em>so many people.<em> It's insane how often people reproduce.

I mean, you walk up to your mom's best friend one day, and go 'Hey, how are you doing?' And then you realize the one you just saw in diapers the other day is toddling behind her and she's holding a new baby. So she replies 'Fine, have you met our newest one?'

And then she complains how tight their budget got, and you want to smack them. Honestly, woman. DON'T REPRODUCE UNLESS YOU HAVE THE MONEY TO SUPPORT ANOTHER ONE!

Whew, mini rant gone there. I get up to the front of the line. "Name?" It's a nice looking lady with big hair, all piled on top of her head.

"Ophelia Norse."

She flips through so many papers I lose track after thirty. She finally comes to my name and crosses it off the list, and pricks my finger. I'm walking away before I realize that I saw something in her eyes. Was it... Pity? No, of course not...

But then I feel it, too. The sense that something horrible is about to happen. I'm going to be reaped. I clench my pearl ring tightly, it was my dad's gift to me when I was younger. When we didn't know how he afforded it.

The reapings begin, and our escort, Ingrid, walks onstage, a plastic smile on her face. I hear some of the Districts don't have Victors, so they have to have their escort be a mentor. That would suck.

She introduces herself and I zone out. Blah, blah, blah, I don't care. No one does. Unless it's them. It their kid. Or their friend.

"Ooh, and our lucky girl tribute is Ophelia Norse!" Knew it.

Wow, what a sick thought, I think as I walk onstage. I'm a terrible person sometimes. That makes me giggle a bit, but I cover it quickly. Don't want a crazy tribute, do we? Because the Capital gets what they want, of course!

She calls the other tribute, "Cane Soy!" I stop paying attention again, and we shake hands.

Out of the frying pan, and into the fire! I cackle once I sit down in the meeting room. I'm as good as dead now, composing myself won't matter!


	13. District 12: Dishonored

**A/N (Glossy): **We are almost full now and it is so exciting. If you want to be a part of it, there are only four slots remaining so sign up quick!

**Lorna Faye, 16 (written by LoxFox)**

**District 12 Female**

Today I go to my doom.

I swallow, the lump in my throat refusing to budge, so at odds to my beforehand attitude. This morning, I went about my chores like it was nothing, tidying and organising. Now I wait for my death to come swiftly, and pray that it will be painless. This morning, I fretted pettily over my reaping dress, ironing out the creases and stitching up the small tears in the fabric. Now my palms are sweating as I leave my family behind. This morning, I was Lorna Faye. And now I am a pawn in the complex games of blood. I don't want to suffer, not on television in front of my parents, my friends. But I am being tossed into it like I do not matter, just another playing piece for the gamemakers to scrabble around with.

Do they not know it is with human lives that they are playing?

Times were easier, then. As dawn broke, I was sat in my bedroom, sprawled across the bed, the only sound the even rise and fall of my breathing and the scratching of my pen across the paper. I'm one of the few children in this district that's over the age of fourteen and allowed to continue in my studies. They say I would end up in the Capitol, working the finances there. They didn't say I would end up in the Capitol, training to kill other children.

Despite my fears, I had spun around in my dress, feeling pretty for once in my short life. The delicate garment did a rather sorry job of flattening out my rotund stomach, but it accentuated the natural curves of my body and in this one single moment, I am pictured like the goddesses of old. Silly and childish, I know, but it's one of the few comforts that I have. It certainly beats overeating and hollow depression.

But that was then. And this is now.

I am terrified. From up on the platform, the other's name is called, the 'Mort Hylander' declared out with unsympathetic precision, I watch as a scrawny, skinny kid with the dark skin and hints of starvation that riddle the miners' children makes his way up, a swirl of unsure emotion crossing his face. He is crying too. Oh, how the tributes from Twelve this year are a sorry pair indeed.

We're the stark, polar opposites of each other; my parents and I, we work in the white-collar and offices, a sheltered lifestyle in which we needn't worry about the brutally unforgiving world outside, but still we suffer in the winters when supplies run low. My male counterpart, a few years younger than me, he's more than half-starved, malnourished from the vile poverty that is the scourge of our district. I can see the children that share his features, his siblings, moving unhappily amongst the crowd. His sister, it must be, she struggles and yells out how she'll volunteer, she'll pay anything to ensure his safety. Yet she cannot stand in for her brother, and I cannot help but watch as she is torn away from him by the peacekeepers.

'Shake hands now, tributes,' our escort states, and despite his predicament, the boy gives me a soft smile as he offers up the gesture. Snivelling in my pathetic weakness, I wipe my nose on the long sleeve of my dress, forcing the tears from my eyes. Nervous, I bite my lip, and then I grasp the kid's hand, both of us shaking as we contemplate our imminent demise.

But there's something in his eyes, some optimism, some hope, some beautiful, shining trust in me, and I don't want to dirty his expectations. So I send him back a weak smile, a poor example that doesn't reach my eyes, and I truly wish that he can maintain his innocence. As far as I'm, concerned, I'm dead and buried before we even start.

I am lead into the room we are escorted to, so that we can say our last goodbyes, and guilt seeps into me as my parents enter, hunched over and defeated, and then I almost collapse as my sister noses in behind them, their hungry faces so filled with concern that I all but break down.

'Mum, Dad, Steffi- Oh gods, I'm so sorry,' I apologise, choking on my words. I spill out my crimes, almost screaming out my sorrows to them, terrified as my time nears, and I can't leave without confessing. My family looks on, sympathetic; yet they're half-starved, unable to provide food for themselves. Food I have eaten, blaming it on rats.

'I'm so sorry, so- sorry, I can't say- just how much- how much I can't… I'm sorry,' I stutter, stumbling and rambling, so unkindly forced to die in this cruel twist of fate. I am far too inept for the arena; I can work out any math problem you throw in front of me, but I won't last twenty seconds in the arena. I'm going to die, oh gods, I'm going to die and they'll send my body home in a too-wide wooden box.

My father turns away, disgusted, once I have confessed to my sins, and storms out, swearing to the heavens, the rage crossing his features the warning signs that he was going to snap. I have almost singlehandedly starved my family into submission, weighing twice what my sister does, so caught up in my own self-depreciation that I didn't care how my kin suffered. This is not fair.

I take the train, alienated and afraid, too embarrassed to even talk to my shivering district partner.

Shame on me.

**Mort Hylander, 14 (written by LoxFox)**

**District 12 Male**

'Good morning, world.' I hear, babbled from the seat across the table, and know I have to brace myself for the tirade to come.

'A quick overview on the Hylander household, and today is reaping day, ladies and gents! That means that you get an extra-special broadcast from your favourite fantastically funny talk show host- please welcome, Dermack Hylandeeeerrr!' A manic ball of energy, my little brother gestures for praise, and I reluctantly give him a quick round of applause. He continues, once the legion of his adoring fans -in other words, the dog- has finished the non-existent, raucous applause. 'Our eligible tributes are, as follows: Jay, seventeen, the eldest child, a fan-tastic athlete and the district's prize feederball player. Next in line is Layla, the gorgeous gal whose beauty is rivalled only by that of the gods of old! Then we have her useless lump twin-brother; fourteen-year-old Mort, with wit as sharp as a butterknife-'

'Hey!' I protest, throwing closest thing to hand, a half-empty tin of boot polish, at Mac. He ducks, smirking, and continues his mock radio broadcast, not even dropping the hairbrush he's using as an impromptu microphone.

'Sorry bro. Let me reiterate- here we have fourteen-year-old Mort, who is literally the worst brother ever,' Mac sends a pointed look in my direction, emphasising every word, and I can't help but roll my eyes. 'Aaand finally, there's Hale, departing for the first time, the sister who is really annoying because she fed my schoolwork to the dog that one time.' as if on cue, speak of the devil and all, Hale saunters in, her hair neatly braided in perfect little rows, intricately done for her first reaping. She sticks her tongue out at Mac, then settles down for breakfast.

The table is piled high with cornbreads, the sickly-sweet aroma of fruit jam wafting through the air as I stuff my face in the glorious overabundance of it all. In Twelve, times are harsh, and in the end we rarely have enough to eat. We're just a big family, that's all- a household with nine kids thinly spread between four different parents. And Grandaddy eats a lot. But I don't mind, because I wouldn't give any of them up, not for the world.

Within ten short minutes, the whole crew is down. My parents split a few years ago, but have kept the house between them, each finding a new partner and getting down to the terribly grown-up business of making babies. There's my three flesh-and-blood siblings, always squabbling and bickering like we're no more than toddlers; then four step-siblings, red-faced kids no older than three years old, crawling around and screaming in the unholy hours of the night. Plus me, that comes to eight of us in total.

I tell Mac he's adopted.

Hastily, I prepare myself for the reaping, once breakfast is done, squirrelling away the plates and charging down the corridor to my room. I share it with Jay and Mac, so there isn't an awful lot of space, but enough to wriggle into an ill-fitting shirt and the most presentable set of trousers that I have, and by the time I'm ready, the sun is high in the sky, signifying the cycle of rebirth, a kindly light that smiles on all that bathe in its warm glow.

I whistle to Barley, and she obediently comes, trotting at my heel. Sleek and almost feline, she stares up at me with the loving, brown shade of her wide eyes, and I scratch behind her ears as we make our way to the reaping. She's a young dog, a greyhound, we reckon, and fast as lightning. I've never seen anything move quite so quickly; it's astonishing, the sheer speed that she reaches when she goes for it. Some nights, when a storm rolls in or when there's a peacekeeper patrol trudging through the streets, she'll come and lay her head on my lap, sprawled over the mat that I use as a bed, the two of us curled up against the world.

'No dogs.'

I blink, surprised. 'Sorry, what?'

'No dogs.' The woman on the desk is stern, adamant, and gives me the evil eye even after I apologise. I lead Barley away from the square and tie her up, and I arrange a bowl for her water, while I tell her to stay, calming her frayed nerves. Dogs worry. They're nice like that. 'I've just got to do this, 'kay girl? I'll be back, I promise.'

I go in, stand ready in my box. From the girls' side, Layla gives me a worried thumbs-up, and I send her a reassuring smile. She gets so worked up, bless her, so I normally get the job of making sure she's okay. I don't really notice who the girl is when she is picked, but it isn't Layla or Hale, and relief flushes through me. My sisters are safe.

'Mort Hylander'

Oh God. That's me. I can't- I can't do this. No, please, no. With shaking knees, I make my way up towards the stage to meet my counterpart, but I try to steady myself, despite the tears that are welling up in my eyes. I have to be strong for them, for Jay and Hale and Layla, and for my half-mad brother Mac. At least this lessens the chances of them being reaped, and even if I do not make it in this arena, I will make them proud. No, I will return home; unlikelier people have survived before, mark my words.

Anyways, I promised the dog, didn't I?


	14. Train Rides: The Polar Express

**A/N (Glossy): **Go vote on the Training Scores! Also, in the future, don't include rebellious acts in the districts. Katniss said that they haven't happened since the Dark Days so lets keep that to a minimum.

**Garrett Ryker, 18 (written by LoxFox)**

**District 1 Male**

There is a strange sense of tension in the carriage. Neither of us wants to meet the other's eye, and though Val tries to make pleasant conversation several times while dully ignoring the heaped plates full of food, I am too wrapped up in the layers of my own concern to notice.

She goes about, fairly laid-back, chatting with our mentors, in typical Valeria style. From behind my façade of bravado, I worry incessantly, the feeling chewing in my gut as I fear for her safety. I could not live with myself if I allowed her to fall at the hands of the other tributes. I'd have failed her, failed her husband, Juniper too. But worst, myself.

The journey from One to the Capitol would take a while, a few hours on a high-speed train such as this one. I pretend that I do not really have time to get acquainted with my mentors in the process, but we all know Prometheus in our district; he has been elevated to celebrity status, about as well-known as it is possible to be, aside from the president himself. In the carriage where Val is watching the reapings, chattering away with the past victors, I enter and slide into a chair, spearing a piece of fruit with a fork and eating away to calm the slight growl in my stomach. Whether it's from hunger or nerves, I am not entirely sure.

'So, Garrett,' Prometheus muses, his accent now tainted with the twang of the Capitol. 'Have you got a plan for the games? Any strategies, contingency plans?' He settles down next to me, and I try not to tense up too much. I do have a plan for the games; a detailed and explicit guide to making my stand, but I cannot tell Prometheus, not just yet.

'I do,' I reply, cautious, not really willing to give away the details of my ideas. After Prometheus has begun outlining intricately detailed plans for the arena, how to counter the moves of the other tributes, hints about the arena and my fellow careers. Encouraged, he continues, talking of an 'unusual setup', warning me to watch my step, yet when I enquire further, he draws a line horizontally across his mouth, giving me the look that tells me to back off.

'Uh-uh,' he mocks, shaking his head. 'Now, I can't let you know all of the little secrets of the Capitol now, can I? Naughty, naughty.' I do not know whether or not he is patronising me or simply being immature. For a man that has seen it all, I wonder how it affects him. Prometheus seems fine at the moment, nonchalantly tucking into the profiteroles like he doesn't have a care in the world, but I am truly curious to how he copes with it all. I've seen the games destroy many a victor, as they stand up on their victory tour stage, shaking and empty eyed, gawping like a dead fish.

Of course, the others roar with delight, shoving their victory into the faces of the families of the children they've killed. It is disgusting, the way in which they act, distasteful and maleficent. Being taught compassion from a young age, I understand the importance of tolerance and respect, and the reaction from the more vicious tributes is barbaric. I can only hope that Val does not end up like either of those stereotypes, for the sake of her family and everyone around her. Skill and training is one thing, but humanity is another matter completely, and many a time have the games unwound their tributes, stripping them down to a skeleton, primed and ready for the Capitol to flaunt, showcase.

Has Prometheus become a puppet of the Capitol? For all I know, he could be a spy, or a vigilante, or a stripper. The thing is, he keeps his guard up, the impossibly perfect attitude so well-done that it cannot be genuine.

'Hey, hey. Garrett.' He snaps his fingers in my face, and I blink, slightly taken aback. 'Are you even listening here? I am your best hope for the games after all, you know. You should really heed the counsel of your superiors.'

How many times has he said those exact words to the tributes before me?

How many times will he continue to do so after I am gone?

**Arielle Seine, 15 (written by HestiaAbnegation11)**

**District 5 Female**

The Train Rides. That's where I am, I remember as I wake up from a bad dream. Wait, it wasn't a dream, I was Reaped. And Snow made me get Reaped! If I see him I will execute him as soon as possible, because I could live the rest of my days in peace!

I study on the way up about the past arenas. All of them were deadly, specifically last year and the first one. The sixth was also bad with the bees and all, but still. This year, they say, is going to be worse than all the rest. And for that, I am truly scared. I think I hear voices whispering at the door, but when I open it nobody is there.

I may be going mad, I hope I'm not, I scream into my pillow because I swear a vampire was standing there. I must be dehydrated. "Avox!" I scream. A squad of avoxes run into the room and ask me what I need. "Water and food." I croak.

They rush back inside with water and slices of bread, along with some medicine beside it. "What's that?" I ask?

"Some medicine to help calm you down. It seems you are hallucinating." One says.

"Oh thank you." I reply and take a pill out of it and try to wash it down with water. Now that that's over with I decide to read a book. I sit down next to a large window looking over the dense forest that we are currently in. I plop down there and start reading my favorite story, Romeo and Juliet.

So sad how they all kill themselves at the end. I pick up at Chapter 6 and continue from there. Some people say I am crazy for being able to start from the middle of nowhere and know exactly what is going on. Well, that's one of the signs of being an avid reader, and my book is so worn from the many times I have read it.

I decide that I don't want to read anymore after reading a chapter or two, and get up again. Running to my room, I throw myself onto the bed, grab the remote and turn the TV on.

The only channels are like pictures. I decide to go with District 5, and watch the daily lives of my people. I watch them mill about like rats scattered to the wind. Flipping it to District 8, where Valeria had the tribute from last year.

I see it, it has not even a blade of grass form where I see, and I turn my head and it turns with me. Hmm, that's strange. I walk forward in my room and it walks forward with me. I race down the streets of Eight, but I am invisible to them. "Cool." I breathe.

I hear a knock at the door and my district partner, Niyko walks in. "Hey." I say.

Then the television starts screaming and I see bombs dropping in on Eight. "My god." Niyko gasps.

I jump and I see more firebombs that fall on Eight, the people start scampering away from the bombs. Niyko seems to be getting ready to get sick so I shut the TV off. "Hi." I say.

"Um, I just wanted to tell you that you took the Reapings really well, and wished you the best of luck." Niyko says.

"I wish you the best of luck as well." I say and a small smile creeps across my face.

He leaves and I see that we are close to arriving in the Capitol. I can't help but think about District Eight. Rebellious, of course, but dangerous? How could they be harmful, the most weapons they have are needles. And how could that hurt anyone? I think I have something as of an obsession about this. I think I may be going crazy. I drink some of the water and take another pill.

It calms my nerves and I breathe a deep sigh of relief. Thank god. We start to arrive in the Capitol and I meet Niyko at the window and wave to the people of the Capitol.

The Capitol. Bombing unarmed District Eight citizens. I can't get it out of my mind. They can't control me.

**Bruno Belmonte, 18 (written by LokiThisIsMadness)**

**District 6 Male**

A clock thicks rhythmically on the wall of the train car, producing the only sound that I've heard for hours since Violet and I left District Six. She wasn't very quiet when we first left home, but now she's sitting at the window with a smile on her face.

That's one of the things that scares me the most so far. I can't get attached to her, because I won't be able to protect her when the time comes. Only one wins, after all. If I'm not even sure that I have what it takes to win myself; how can I protect a thirteen year old?

When I turn around her and look at her, Violet is talking to her doll, whose name I think is Sally or something. As she talks to her doll, I only hear a few words, hardly more audible than a whisper. "Do you think I should talk to him?"

Is she talking about me?

I sit on the couch, wondering if my district partner is about to join me or not. The thing is that I know what I have to do. I have to protect her, because that's what Bex would have wanted me to do. I never got the chance to avenge her- to kill the mayor that murdered my sister, the woman who only wanted to be free. If I make it out of the arena, he won't escape. That's a promise.

Suddenly, I feel a hand on my arm. I look down to see Violet has finally come over to join me. "Bruno! How long until we reach the Capitol?"

I sigh. She has no idea what is happening here, does she? Or maybe she's doing all of this to win me over. Who knows. "Still a while until that, Violet. Why don't you go and get some rest?"

She ignores my request and just giggles. "I can't wait! Have you ever been to the Capitol, Bruno?"

I want to tell her to go away and leave me alone, but I find that I can't do that to her. I know what Bex wouldn't have wanted me to ignore this girl, and it's my job to honor her memory, not shame it. This little girl will have no chance if she has no one to protect her when the time comes. I mean, I could do it. If I don't win, I would want her to. Our district would not go hungry for one year and besides, someone like her doesn't deserve to die.

None of us do, after all.

I smile a little. "No Violet, I haven't. But I'm sure it's wonderful." She retreats for a second to ask something to Sally, her doll. A few minutes later, she's back. "Why are you here, Bruno?"

I chuckle. If I can make both of us laugh a little, this will be worth it.

"Probably because he was reaped, Violet?" Our mentor, Albus, finally join us. He's about thirty years old now, having won the 6th Hunger Games. I wasn't alive when he won, but I've seen his Games, in recaps before the usual Games or during the breaks of the other Games broadcasts.

He's a nice guy, if you ask me. Anyone that manages to win the Hunger Games and comes from District Six deserves to be honored, if not more.

Albus sits down across from us, and addresses me. "Okay, I need to know everything about you. Bruno, can you start?" He looks at me, an inquisitive look on his face. Of course, he expects me to do much better than Violet.

I cringe. "I'm Bruno Belmonte, 18 years old, and I've worked on the Malia train for as long as I can remember, taking whatever they send us back to the District. Well, I wasn't there for eight months, but I came back."

He lifts an eyebrow. "What happened?"

I sigh. I really didn't want to mention this so early but well, so be it. "I was sick. Depression. But I'm better now, before you ask."

I look at both of them, trying to get a reaction. But before I can move, Violet's little arms wrap around my torso. "Oh Bruno, that's awful. I am here now and so is Sally. Here, you can hold her for a while. She makes everything better." She passes me the doll and I can't do anything else but take it. If it means that much to her, I'll do it.

Albus turns to me. "So, you are strong?"

I nod and he smiles. "The question is, do you two want to ally?"

Violet looks at me with hopeful eyes. I can protect her; I can do that. Even if I have to carry her on my back the entire time, I'll make sure that she doesn't die alone. I could never get back to my district with my head held high if I left Violet behind. We don't have much, but, in the end, we only have one unspoken rule: if you kill your district partner during the games, you will never have a peaceful life if you make back home.

I can get us more allies. Violet can stay behind me if she wants, and I'll do the talking. With someone else with us, we can do it. Then, if she dies, they'll know that I did my best. And if I manage to win, I'll be able to avenge my big sister. I'll be a Victor, and I'll get rid of the mayor without them noticing a single thing. Yes, I think that's a good plan. I'm a strategist, and strategists play to win.

I nod. "I'll ally." Albus opens his mouth to say something, but immediately closes it.

Violet jumps into my lap and giggles. "You're the best big brother ever, Bruno."

I give her the doll back and again, she smiles. "Don't worry, Violet. You and Sally are safe with me." She rests her head on my chest and I don't have the courage to tell her to go away.

Maybe this is it. Maybe this is why I was reaped. Besides the mayor having a hand on it, of course. Like this, I can make both Mattie and Bex proud. I take the picture out of my pocket and suddenly get an idea,

I pass the picture to Violet."Look, that was my sister. Her name is Bex."

As she asks me all kind of questions, I realize that maybe this won't be too bad.

**Jezebel Kalhsi, 17 (written by LoxFox)**

**District 7 Female**

I saunter into the train like I own the place. It's a nice attitude and all, but I'm starting to have doubts.

Like, if I want to win this, I'm going to need advice, training, sponsors; Islay did a good job preparing me, but she's never been in the games, so my knowledge is pretty rough. Still, I hope our escort knows what they're doing, because I'm not going to be lead into disaster by some imbecilic Capitol half-wit. More fool them if they decide to short-change me. I will make their lives hell if they mess up the almost-assured victory that lies before me. My chances are good- but if they interfere with my sponsorships or skill sets, they will pay, of this I am sure.

Curious, I rewatch the reapings as we speed towards the final destination, slightly bored, but still concerned enough to check out potential allies. I'm confident, not inherently dumb- the better I get to know the competition, the more likely I can outsmart them in the arena. Of course, I'm looking for comrades to exploit- you watch my back, I'll stab you in the back of yours- and a few people spring to mind, but I'm not making any judgements yet.

Thing is, two of the three career districts seem unusual this year: the duos from One and Four both seem reluctant, as if they're volunteering to cave into external pressures rather than for the glory of victory. That's odd in itself, but I'm glad to see that the pair from Two look as brutal and feisty as ever. Naturally, I like the look of the male tribute, who barges his way onstage and punches the volunteer in the face. Nice going, mate, you jerkass. I'm looking forward to running my sword through your heart.

Most of the others seem like a pretty standard lot; there's a few surprises in the outer districts, the boy from Ten almost looking like career-worthy material, and my own partner looks far more impressive on camera. I smirk when I volunteer, sweeping in like a warlord, taking everything in my path.

I retreat back to my room, blatantly avoiding my partner, to practice my craft. I want to get in as much preparation as I can before the chaos starts in a few days' time, so I disassemble an unfortunately-placed chair with maybe a tad more force than necessary, nicking the leg to use as a sword. It's a little short for my preferences, but it doesn't matter too much, as I'm only giving it a go. Besides, I don't know what's going to come up in the arena, or the weapons in the training centre, so I'd best familiarise myself with whatever I can, while I can.

With the motion of the train, swaying from side to side a little, I decide to adapt my drills and combat routines, and I finish locking the door as I remove all but my innermost layers of clothing. Then I go for a heated attack against an invisible enemy that's dodging and ducking, just out of reach. Within minutes, I'm sweating heavily, ramped up with the exertion of the aggression and the constant escaping of my unstoppable foe, always mere inches from my blade. Even though I should, by all rights, be able to control it- it's my creation, after all, my mental adversary- yet it's always running away, and with ever-increasing frustration, I snarl, slicing and stabbing as I try to take down the wisp in my mind that I've killed so many times before. Still it evades me, the taunting shadow-person that I'm fighting, and with an angry swoop, I ram the chair leg through the paper-thin walls of the train, ripping a jagged hole through the divide.

Aw, crap. I hope I'm not going to have to pay for that.

My dissatisfaction with the train's structure is quickly replaced with something that's almost akin to abashment as I realise I've broken a gaping hole between the bedrooms for the two tributes. My partner looks a little taken aback; there he was, sat on his bed, doing not a lot, and some psychobitch smashes through the side of his room. In unison, the both of us look at each other, slightly troubled, trying not to stare at the fact that neither of us is wearing much in the way of outerwear. I quickly grab a shirt and pull it over my head, still holding my chair-leg-sword.

'If you say a word,' I threaten, 'I'll smack your nose so hard into your face that you'll be able to smell backwards. Get it?'

He leers in response. 'I'd like to see you try.'

All I can do is glare back, resentful, and I get the feeling that the two of us aren't going to get on.

**Jeremiah Garner, 13 (written by Elim9)**

**District 8 Male**

She just won't stop talking.

I shake my head and pick at what's left of my food, pretending to be intently interested in the roasted potatoes and sickly sweet rolls in front of me. Adalyn and our mentors – Godric and Vasilios – have spent the last hour or so of our meal talking through every possible strategy, every possible angle, every possible way to get sponsors, everything that might keep us alive.

Why are they even pretending?

Maybe it's her way of coping. Her way of dealing with the fact that, no, we _don't _have a chance. Neither of us. We watched the other reapings a few hours ago. Almost all of the other tributes are older, stronger, more fit, more prepared. What makes her think either of us stands a chance against them?

But she has to keep believing it, because the alternative is worse.

The alternative, of course, is accepting the truth. We're going to die. In a matter of weeks – maybe a matter of days – we'll both be dead. These are our last few days, and she's going to spend them chattering through every minute, pretending there's even the _slightest_ chance that she might make it out of this alive.

How am I going to spend mine?

I force down the lump in my throat. No. No, I'm not going to cry. Not here, not in front of her, not in front of our mentors. The two of them have been telling us one thing, over and over again: Don't show weakness. Be strong.

Be strong.

But I'm tired of being strong.

Tears finally escape my eyes as I push myself away from the table and run for the door to the next car. No one follows. And why should they? Why should they pay any attention to me? Why should they care about trying to keep me alive when I've already accepted the fact that I'm as good as dead?

I bury my face in my pillow as I'm overcome with sobbing. I want to scream. I want to pound the walls and break the windows and smash everything in the room. I want…

I don't even know what I want.

But what good would screaming do? What good would it do to break or smash things? Would it change the fact that I'm here? Would it postpone my death – or make it come more quickly? No. No, the truth is that nothing – _nothing_ – I can do will make the slightest bit of difference.

On the other hand, that means there's no reason _not_ to.

I pick up the nearby lamp and fling it against the wall. It shatters, and soon, shards of glass and pottery are strewn across the floor. It almost feels good. I grab one of the larger pieces and heave it at the mirror. That feels even better. Maybe it's not doing any good, but at least I'm doing _something_.

Soon, I've broken everything within reach. A few vases. Several mirrors and picture frames. The hangers from the closet. Every light bulb in the room. It's a mess. But it's _my_ mess. It's mine.

And, at the moment, it's all I have.

There's a knock on the door, and, suddenly, my throat clenches. I can't let them see this. Can't let them see what I've done. Don't show weakness. Be strong.

As quickly as I can, I lock the door.

The knocking soon turns to pounding, but I ignore it. I fling myself onto the bed and bury my face in my pillow.

I can hear voices. Godric and Vasilios, telling me to come out. To listen. But I don't want to listen. I'm tired of listening. I'm tired of pretending. I'm tired of _them_.

At last, the pounding subsides. "Fine," one of the mentors – I'm not even sure which – says, making sure I can hear him. "If he wants to wallow in self-pity all the way to the Capitol, let him. I'm going to bed."

I use the pillow to muffle my crying. I don't _want_ to wallow in self-pity. I don't _want _to be here at all. But maybe it's better if they just leave. I don't want to see them. I don't want to talk to them.

I just want to be alone.

**Adalyn Rhodes, 14 (written by Elim9)**

**District 8 Female**

He just won't talk to me.

I knock on the door again, quietly. It's just me now. Godric and Vasilios gave up a while ago. And maybe I should, too. But I don't want to be alone.

Godric and Vasilios are doing their best, of course, but it's just not the same as having someone my own age. Someone to talk to. That's all I want now, really. To talk – and not about strategy or allies or what's the best sort of weapon when most of the other tributes could pick me up and toss me across the room.

I just want to talk.

But, instead, I'm stuck talking to a closed door.

Maybe that's good enough for now. I know he's inside. Maybe he's listening. I settle down on the floor and lean back against the wall next to the door. "I know how you feel," I say at last, softly, knowing how hollow those words must sound. "I miss them, too – my family." It's a bit of a shot in the dark, but chances are, he's got a family who misses him, too.

"You know what's funny?" I continue when he doesn't answer. "I told them it wouldn't be me. They were so worried this morning, and I thought … well, I thought they were worried for nothing. What were the chances, really, that it was going to be _my _name that was called? I told my little sister that I … I would let her try on my dress after we got back from the reaping."

Silence. "It wasn't really the dress that cheered her up, of course. It was the thought of me coming back. And now she's … she's probably sitting at home, waiting, hoping that I'll come home from the Games so I can … so I can let her try on that stupid dress." I wipe a few tears from my eyes. "Maybe they'll ship it back home after I … after…" I bury my face in my hands.

_After I die._ I can't finish the sentence, but we both know how it ends. What chance do I have, really? What chance does either of us have? For all the talk, all the strategy, all the planning, what it really comes down to is the other tributes. And they're all so much older, so much stronger, so much more prepared. We can hide from the truth all we want, but it's still there.

We're going to die.

Suddenly, there's a soft click, and I realize the door is opening. A face peers out – his eyes red from crying, his cheeks damp with tears. Slowly, I get to my feet, brushing away some of my own. "I was beginning to think you weren't listening," I admit.

Jeremiah shakes his head. "Of course I was listening." He opens the door a little wider.

Then I see the room.

I can't stop myself. I burst out laughing. The room is a complete mess. Pieces of lamps and mirrors and pictures are strewn everywhere. Everything in the room seems to be broken.

Except the boy in front of me.

He finally smiles a little, then joins me in laughing. Laughing at the pointlessness, the absurdity of it all. The sound draws Godric and Vasilios from their rooms, but their bewildered expressions only make it funnier. Completely baffled, the two of them usher us into another bedroom, then send for some of the Capitolite folks to clean up the room.

Jeremiah and I collapse onto a couch together, still choking back laughter. "Thank you," he finally manages to say through bursts of giggles. "I … I needed that."

I wrap an arm around his shoulders. "My pleasure. Sometimes it's just good to know that—"

"—that you're not alone," he finishes.

"Exactly," I agree. For a moment, we're both silent. I hesitate, trying to decide how to ask what's on my mind.

But, to my surprise, he asks first. "I don't want to be alone during the Games. Do you want to be…?"

"Allies?" I finish. He nods. "Yes," I answer immediately. "Yes, I do."

His mouth widens into a grin, and I can't help but smile back.

I'm not alone.

**Sage Tressney, 14 (written by stuckathomebgs)**

**District 9 Female**

As soon as I walk onto the train, I see Merce with Ronny, who stinks of a combination of whiskey and morphling. Yep, that's my mentor.

"Just go away." Ronny yells. "GO AWAY! YOU ARE GOING TO DIE AND I'M NOT GOING TO CARE!"

What a nice young chap.

I leave the room, wanting to go get some fresh air, since the whiskey is starting to get to my stomach. This reminds me of one of our neighbors named Lucie. Lucie had a huge drinking problem, and her favorite was whiskey. One night, she had too much and we took her to the hospital, the doctor waved her off and she died of alcoholism on the way to the other doctor.

The only reason we volunteered to do this because Lucie was Delia's mom. She went downhill after Delia got killed. We heard her sobs for a long time until she went completely under the alcohol 'Daze' as the adults called it. I also was walking back from working in the processor factory and she asked me where her pet haystack went, I just kept walking, knowing any response would put her at an even worse point than she was already.

That's when Merce comes out, her long blonde hair is surprisingly not in her face after going in between the cars. Something seems to be bothering the first victor.

"Are you alright?" She asks. "Ronny is very insensitive toward his tributes. This happens every year, and it's tiring for me and the tributes."

"It's alright." I respond. "There's a lot of drunks in my neighborhood, I get yelled at all the time, and they think I'm their wife or something like that." I add on, noticing her confused look.

"Ah, the drunken Daze." Merce's face is now clear of the confusion.

"Yep." I respond awkwardly, this is getting nowhere.

She leaves, sensing the empty hole in the conversation that was there since the beginning of the conversation. I look out the windows of the final car to see the sign of District 7, meaning we are finally passing through the tip of the giant district, at least in school the teachers say it's giant, about ten times the size of District 9.

"Listen, tributes, mentors, escort, and staff on the District 9 train." Says the conductor. "We have to go a longer way around, through District 4, because one of the train bridges in District 5 was burned down, an accident is to blame."

I groan, falling back onto the couch, we are probably going to be the last ones to the Capitol, since 1, 2, 3, 5, and possibly 6, 4, and 7 have arrived since they're particularly close to the Capitol.

I decide to explore the train, since we aren't going to be to the Capitol anytime soon. First is the train car I missed, the staff quarters. Some of what look like chefs are sleeping in their beds, with those weird cooking hats over there faces. I stealthily walk by them, without making a sound and passing into the next car, where Ronny seems to be talking to himself about District 10 eating District 6.

What a pushover.

The next car is where Merce and the boy from District 9, well, my district partner, are discussing the Games in hushed voices, which I can only pick out a word or two. They don't seem to notice me, so I leave that car to the dining car and order something called a mocha latte. It's very good, but I stop after just one, knowing Capitol food is very rich, like the people that consume it.

I thank the person who gave me the drink, then leave to the next car.

This is our bedrooms, just in case we get sleepy, but these are probably for cross country districts like 11 and 12.

"Welcome to the Capitol, team!" Yells Jerusibald.

I look out the stained window to see all of the Capitol citizens looking up at the train, screaming, recognizing the tributes from District 9. I see that the boy is waving to them. Geez. What a try hard. I just step back from the windows and, well, do nothing I guess. I just stare occasionally smiling to them, to keep them cheering.

I get out of the car finally to see a group of people with nametags. 'Irinn', 'Irwin', and 'Irving'. Great, they're triplets.

That's when they start talking all at once, and I'm trying to process it all, but it's kind of impossible with this crew.

This is going to be frustrating.

**Thyme Flanvia, 16 (written by HestiaAbnegation11)**

**District 10 Female**

My stylist talks over some boring training things and some other things about interviews and chariots. There is also good pork, but it is rich and I ask the server for District Ten steak and they bring some. It tastes wonderful. I sink my teeth into it and the rest of the table sniggers at me.

Kansas sits next to me and says "At least you have some manners, the kids two years ago ate with their fingers." That almost sends me over the edge into a flying rampage to murder him. The least I do is stab my fork into my steak as I slurp out of my drink. I drop my fork onto the table and leave it there as I exit the room. Avoxes ask me what I want, and I ask for some peace and private please! Geez, they may want to help people, but I seriously think there is something a little wrong with them. They never talk. Of course, there tongue is mutilated.

I watch some of the Reapings, there is a petite girl from Five, huge careers, as usual and a thin girl from Nine. Those are the ones that stick out to me, then I see ours. The boy and me are chosen we are ushered away blah, blah, blah.

I _HATE _Kansas, my prep team and the stylist. They all don't help me in any way they just groom me to go and die. At least I can put up a fight the girl from Five looked like if she was stabbed she'd die right then and there. I am pretty good with a knife from my butchering days and all.

So, if I could get my hands on a knife, I could do really good. I tell this to my stylist and she tells me that it is wonderful that I know how to do that. I find out her name is Ursula and she is from the Capitol. She blabbers on about things I don't care about as I stab a knife into the table and she lets out a shriek. "What?" I ask?

"That is oak! Oak! I can't believe you just did that. Take it back! Take it back!" She squeals.

"Fine, fine." I say and pluck the knife out of the wood and she breathes a sigh of relief. "I thought it could have died."

"It is dead! It has been cut out of a tree in District Seven! So, yes it is dead, I killed it. Woop-dee-do!" I shout.

She gazes at me in horror. "No. Just no. It's alive! It's alive, alive! I can't believe it. Those lumberjacks had better watch out! Ursula is coming for them in District Seven!" I almost laugh and listen to her blabber again. Ugh.

Not that I care about her or whatever she pours her life story out to her. And one sentence catches my eye "What was that?" I ask?

"President Snow came to our house once and asked to see my husband. He said that my husband died of a disease and that's why they took him away. I said that it was good that I didn't get that plague." She says again.

President Snow is a murderer. A cold-blooded murderer! And he is only in his teen years! He was elected because all of the other political opponents were killed of something like three months apart. Of course, the Capitol didn't notice at all, they were just glad to elect someone.

She dismisses herself and we ride past districts. Nine, Eight, Six, Four, Three, Two, One and then we are in the Capitol. I gaze surly at them when we drive past them. They all are smiling and waving to the car in front of us, District Nine, I assume. District Nine is in no way better than me or my district! No way! I smile at them and wave.

I hate the Capitol, so I just glare and glare and they jump back with startled expressions. They run to the Eleven car to get away from me and I smile with glee, at least I can sulk in quiet.


	15. Entrance to Capitol: Chins Up, Smiles On

**A/N (Glossy): **Go vote on the training scores in the forum!

**Violet Lamiale, 13 (written by oddtom)**

**District 6 Female**

As our train nears the Capitol, the windows go dark as we enter a tunnel in the mountains. I run up to the windows as Albus explains what is expected of us. "Okay, when we get to the Capitol, put on your best smiles and look happy to be here."

All at once, the train sweeps out into sunlight, and I can suddenly see the giant glassy towers of the Capitol reflecting off a large, crystal lake. I gasp in wonder as I take in the beautiful sight. "Wow! It's even more beautiful than in the pictures!"

Albus turns to face me as he adds, "I guess being excited won't be a problem for you sweetie." Turning back to Bruno, he adds, "When we get into the Capitol, be friendly try to make an impression. Afterward, you will be meeting with Blanco and her stylists to be costumed for the parade later tonight. I'm sure that Blanco will tell you this as well, but just to make sure, you are to do whatever they say, do you hear me?"

I nod my head vigorously, my eyes still glued to the wonderful sight before me. I hear Bruno grunt in agreement behind me, as our train pulls into the extravagant train station, where a mob of Capitol citizens are all cheering and craning their necks to get a view of me. Remembering what Albus told me, I make sure to smile and wave and, as an afterthought, hold Sally up and let her wave too. We are in this together, after all.

People seem to have dressed up in wonderful costumes, some of which are rather silly looking. As we are marched into the preparation center, I can hardly believe that I'm here! The start of a new adventure! I feel like I'm floating as I am swept through the crowd, and I can't help but giggle at the outrageous feathery costumes that the people here seem to be wearing.

We are swept inside, and finally are introduced to Blanco. Without saying a word, our stylist stands in front of us and rubs his pink chin beard, taking in our figures. He nods knowingly at Bruno, then addresses the stylists to his left. "Big and strong. I want to accenuate the muscles. Let me know when you have him at base zero."

"Base zero?" Bruno asks, but Blanco ignores him. The stylists lead him away, then Blanco turns to me and looks down on me with disapproval. "How old are you, girl?"

I smile brightly and proudly announce, "It's Violet! And I'm thirteen! Well, thirteen and three-quarters, actually."

"I thought as much." Nodding, he groans slighty, and regards me again. Then he turns to the remaining stylists and says, "Well she's got nothing up here", he cups his hands around his upper abdomen, "so let's go with childish. Give her some pigtails or something. Keep the doll, it's a good touch. Maybe they'll sponsor her out of pity."

Piping up, I inform him, "Her name is Sally, and..."

"Yea, yea, whatever works." He turns and waves a hand, dismissing me, and the stylists whisk me away.

They take me to the most beautiful salon that I have ever seen, and I spend the next few hours getting a full makeover. The three stylists rush around, measuring me and performing other various tasks, that they assure me is for my own good. Though some of it is painful, I remember what Albus told me, and I trust them.

I grit my teeth and hold on to Sally as they pluck out nearly every hair of my body. I try not to cry as I hold Sally close and whisper to her, "You're lucky you don't have hair. They'd have to do this to you too."

When they are done removing all of my body hair, I ask one of my stylists if she is going to make Sally beautiful too. She stops, and all three of the stylists share a sigh. She smiles down at me sweetly, and assures me that she will do what she can. She takes Sally from me and begins measuring her while the other two get started on washing my hair.

The aroma of lavender scented oils and shampoos fills the air, and I close my eyes and sigh. I don't think my hair has ever been truly washed, but the stylists keep commenting me on how beautiful my long locks are.

At the end, they dress me up in blue overalls with a matching hat, and give me a red bandana to wear. The stylists all stand back and sigh again, telling me that I am the most adorable tribute they have ever seen. The third stylist returns with Sally, who is dressed in the same uniform as I am. They have even somehow given her hair and braided them into matching pigtails.

I look up from Sally as I hear the door to the other salon open. Bruno emerges, walking awkwardly, dressed in a similar suit that looks far too small for him.

"I think they gave you the wrong size!" I giggle at him.

"I know, right? I think they mixed my size up with Sally's." He looks down at his costume with disgust. "I feel like if I flex the wrong muscle, it'll rip right open. Wouldn't it be great if that happened in front of the crowd."

We both share a laugh as we are herded out to the chariots. I let Bruno walk on ahead, and I look down at Sally and whisper, "I'm so excited! I think we found a new best friend!"

**Mort Hylander, 14 (written by LoxFox)**

**District 12 Male**

I am awed by the Capitol. When we pull past the gates and into the city, I can only gawp like a child in wonder.

There are buildings out there, tall beyond measure, all burnished steel and glass, glinting in the light. A huge body of water divides the space between borders, and as I gaze out of the window, fascinated, the shockwave from the train sliding past causes ripples to spread across the surface. In the light, it dazzles, creating untold numbers of shimmering crystals, the colours spiking in hues of gold and green.

Our train is waved through by security, and while we approach the Capitol's outer reaches, I sit back and enjoy the view. I've already met Lizavita, my mentor, and I've tried to familiarise myself with Lorna. Though she seems decidedly uncooperative, I'm sure we'll get along soon enough, though; after all, we'll be sharing a floor of the training centre together.

I've never had a room to myself, much less an entire floor. It's such a luxury, with double beds and running water and all the electricity a boy could want. No more smoky gas lamps- clean, shining power, and as much of it as I like. Curiously enough, I realise that I've never really thought about it like this, all the extravagance and splendour, and I think that I'm looking forward to enjoying myself as much as I can while I'm here.

The Capitol is a vast and beautiful place- I want to see everything, and I try to catch all the sights while I'm here, craning my neck out of the open window to pick out the attractions, just like a tourist would. The training centre, the convention centre, sports pitches and the great spires of the cathedrals and courthouses, all passing by my window. Liza points out the next thing to come up, and I strain my eyes to see it. I needn't have looked so hard.

From between two towering buildings, the presidential palace comes into view in plain sight, and I gasp at the splendour and aesthetics of it all; perfect symmetry, gleaming marble and endless green lawns that stretch on for acres. Columns holding it up, the flawless white stone stands proud and pure against the cityscape. Frankly, it's stunning, and 'cos I've never seen anything like it, I'm amazed by its perfection.

In Twelve, there's a lot of badmouthing the Capitol, and though I sorta get why, it doesn't mean that people can't appreciate the glamorous style of it all. And even though some years we get the worst idea of Capitol couture, it shouldn't be that we aren't thankful for what the city does for us.

Lorna tells me that we'll be in the Capitol station any minute now, and so I pick up one final glass of the sugary nectar-like juice on the tables, downing it in a last, sweet moment. Because nobody else is around, I slip some of the overabundant food into my pockets, carefully wrapping each honeyed cake or pastry up into a napkin before stashing them away. Honey is a rarity back home, and I want to savour it while it lasts.

As we draw in, I pull a few funny faces at the Capitolites, who are eagerly waiting for our arrival, and while at first I am worried that I have put them off, they do seem to like the comedy of it all. I hope they enjoy my contribution, I really do. I may not have a lot in the way of skills, but I have spirit and a smile, and I can already see the residents warming to me. A little sunbeam of happiness flowers in my chest. Bashful almost, I try to hide my smile, but Liza places a reassuring hand on my shoulder, and tells me to go for it.

So when the train's automatic doors finally open, I am greeted with a warm roar of approval: the waving and smiling at the crowd has certainly pleased them, and I hear cries of 'precious,' and 'adorable,' snatched from conversations. The fashions startle me, and at first, they appear clashing, tacky. But upon closer inspection, I see the style, the charm of the Capitol, in an over-the-top, unthinkingly appealing way. And that's another thing, one that does truly astound me about the place.

Liza leads me through the crowd, and I part it like it is the sea before a deity. I'm not having delusions of godliness, but I like the metaphor, and the crowd really does act like one body, a fluid mass moving as one, a random assortment of confectionery-wrapper colour.

While I hear Lorna complain about it all, I quietly disagree; in all the splendid, hectic, craziness of it all, I can't help but think it's strangely beautiful.

But I'm just a hungry kid from Twelve, and so I know I've seen nothing yet.

**Droplet Shimmer, 18 (written by mykindleisawesome)**

**District 4 Female**

I jump off the train, my feet hitting the ground softly. Oh my goodness, what a long train ride! Our District is the farthest from the Capital, except for District Twelve. The train itself was beautiful, but whenever I encountered my District partner, he would sneer at me and glare.

So I returned the favor by putting a crab in his bed. Oops!

He's still glaring at me, but his icy glare has cooled off, and a smile has almost come over his face. His brother, Darian, has his arm wrapped around him, an incredibly awkward smile on his face.

Haha, I love family drama.

I giggle a bit, and Koi glares at me again. Oh well, I don't exactly give a crap.

There are people from the Capital everywhere, with a lot of them holding cameras and snapping pictures of the incoming tributes. We're almost the last ones, but if I squint, I can see the District Twelve train pulling up in the distance.

Quite a few of the... uh... Capitilians? Yeah, that works. A bunch of them are holding notepads, they must be the journalists often seen on TV. But they're normally called reporters.

"Why did you volunteer?" One yells, but I brush past them.

My mentor comes up behind me, Mags. I requested her, the other girl is a bit depressed. But I almost regretted my choice, Mags all but murdered me when I said I wouldn't be a Career.

"Smile, try not to answer any questions. But if they ask if you'll kill or be killed, make sure you make a point that no one's going to take you down easily." She whispers in my ear, before backing off.

A few microphones are shoved in my face, but I keep skipping along.

"Miss Droplet, why are you so happy?"

"Are you afraid of the Games?"

"Any friends back home you have a message for?"

"Do you plan to kill or be killed?" At this statement, I grab the microphone and look directly into the camera.

"I want you to know that I am not an opponent to be trifled with. I plan on winning this." I say into the microphone, my face a cold mask. Someone takes the microphone back, and my smile returns, as does my skipping.

"Nice," Mags is behind me again. "You showed that you can be serious, and it can be scary when you are. Good work."

I give her a bright smile. "Ohh, thanks! I thought it was absolutely great, too!"

She rolls her eyes. "Uh huh, we need to work on that. No coffee for you. When you get inside, get in the first elevator on the right, and wait for Koi. Push-"

"I'm not stupid." I growl. "I may seem like it, but I am definitely not stupid. Now get out of my way, I'm going to bed."

Without waiting for an answer, I push past her, running to the elevator. Koi squeezes in just before the doors close, and we shoot up to the fourth floor.

I rush into the suite as soon as the doors begin to open, and immediately begin looking for my room. I find it quickly- remember, Droplet, second door on the left!

The door opens, and I gasp. It's absolutely beautiful! I squeal as I flop on my bed. Ohh, how darling! The blue walls, green bookcase and bedspread, and white accents make it look like the ocean, and it's positively perfect!

I love it.


	16. Preparation: Getting Pretty

**A/N (Glossy): **Check out the new poll on my profile! Also look at the official training scores which are on the forum!

**Paulo Bellamy, 17 (written by Glossy-12)**

**District 7 Male**

I've been sitting in the remake center for quite a while now. My prep team violated me in a dozen ways that I didn't even think possible until now. I do hope that Jezebel is having a harder time than me with her prepping.

The prep team just ignored me the whole time, making remarks about how far they think I am going to go in these games. They said that maybe I might make it to the Final 8. Isn't that pleasant?

Meanwhile, I am waiting for my stylist to come in. All of the physical pain is over so now I just have to deal with the emotional pain of whatever ridiculous costume they put me in. Hopefully I'm not a tree again. It's kind of a theme for our district, and I don't think it helps us pull in too many sponsors.

Finally, my stylist walks in.

She looks to be middle-aged and is wearing a leopard print jumpsuit. Her face has little whiskers growing out of it and there are spots all over her. These Capitol people really take fashion to the next level.

"Hello hun. I'm Fabiana and I am your stylist."

I bite down hard on my lip when I hear her name. Fabiana?! Is that even a real name? What kind of person would name their child Fabiana?

"Hi Fabiana. I'm Paulo."

"Oh shush. I know who you are. I know who ALL the tributes are. I'm kind of obsessed with the Hunger Games."

Isn't that just lovely. My stylist is obsessed with the slaughter of almost two dozen children every year. Most stylists probably are, but I still hoped deep down that I would get a sensible human being.

"Well... I'm sure we are all obsessed withe the Hunger Games! It's time to show you your costume."

She presses a button on the wall and a suit gets lifted up into the room through a little hatch.

She holds it out and it looks like I'm meant to look like a tree. The suit has a wreath and it looks like there are leaves attached to the side.

"Wow Fabiana. It's incredible."

To be honest, I couldn't care less about whatever costume they put me in for a little parade, but I have to pretend to like her. After all, she may have some rich and powerful friends who could help buy my way through the Games.

"I knew you'd love it! I can't wait to see you at the parade!"

"I'm excited too Fabiana."

She smiles and pulls me into a big hug. I'm not sure what kind of perfume I smell on her, but my nose wrinkles.

"Well then Paulo. It's time to get you into your costume."

She leaves the room and I drop my paper thin robe. I pull on the suit first and then the wreath. I do a few poses in the mirror like a model and then I walk out to have Fabiana see me.

"OMG! You look amazing Paulo! Let's get you down to the chariots."

She leads me to the elevator where Jezebel is with her stylist. I don't make eye contact and we are down at the chariot stables in no time. The crowd is going to love me!

**Garrett Ryker, 18 (written by LoxFox)**

**District 1 Male**

As the first district to be scrutinised by the Capitol, district One normally has something immensely eye-catching, a real firecracker to get the games started. This year is no exception.

The preparation for the chariot rides does not take me too long; I take care of myself, and as the prep team gushes and coos at my appearance, I am glad that I do not suffer from the rigorous, and sometimes traumatic, perfecting that the less well-groomed tributes have to go through. From down the hall, I think I hear someone yelling out in pain every so often, and so I thank my fortunes that I do not need to endure the basic ritual of cleaning up the tributes.

Newfound respect hits me when I realise that many of the socialite girls in my district go through this same preening every day; willingly ripping extraneous hair off their faces is far more painful than it sounds, and I am now far more assured in the shock factor of it than I would like to be.

After being scrubbed and primed, the nuance of those few pesky hairs between my eyebrows being tweezed out, I am introduced to my stylist, the usual Capitol affair, who explains to me how I am to wear the costume. 'With pride and splendour,' she trills, as she motions with her hands, 'to show the honour of representing your district!'

I have initial concerns, but it turns out that I need not have worried. Our costume, as always, is opulent and prolific, but walks on the more rational side of Capitol fashion. As always, with a district dealing in what we do, the options for the designers are quite open, so it is rare that tributes have similar costumes year in, year out. Even so, as I look on it, it dawns on me how much of a statement they are putting out, though I am not sure if I can reach those expectations.

We are to don the reaping garb of the royalty of old. In times gone by, the legend states, the mythical land of Europa was ruled by a tyrannical king, who was reaped and crowned as the reigning force of the nation. Of course, I do not believe in these fantasies, but that is the theme that they have gone with for us this year.

Billowing out behind the rich purple silks and clunky masses of gemstone-encrusted jewellery, a cape trimmed with what I am hoping is faux ermine trails along the floor, spilling out in a spewing slew of fabric, far too long for me to comfortably wear. Underneath that, there is a singlet and breastplate, each intricately adorned, weaselling vine-like designs etched into the material. Gold leaf decorates the outfit, even woven into the delicate seams in the supple fabrics, and I would not like to think of the cost, if it was indeed the pure and precious metal.

In addition to that, the thick chains and crown have sets of precious gemstones solidly set into them, held in place with clasps and fine craftsmanship. These are certainly the works of district One- after all, which other area could provide a costume that oozes exuberance in such a way?

My stylist, peppy and chirpier than a raucous songbird in springtime, encourages me to try it on, cave into the desire to see myself in a crown. While I arrange the outfit, I am aware of the fact that the cloak is far too long and unwieldy for me to wear with ease. Politely, I ask whether I may leave it off for the moment, just while we are getting ready. Frowning in response, she goes to lift the weighty garment off, then almost stumbles under the mass of it. 'Now I see why you say that,' she giggles, struggling with the rolls of fabric.

'May I give you a hand?' I enquire, and she smiles gratefully as I share the load. 'A literal weight off my shoulders, you know,' I add, and she laughs daintily in response. For all the disdain pointed towards the capitolites, not all of them are conceited and narcissistic, and she aids me with the garment until I reach the chariot, where she lovingly affixes it in place again.

'Oh, silly me. Nearly forgot!' She edits her final touch, the gems in the crown catching the light as she adjusts it on my head, parting my hair and just touching up any last-minute altercations. 'Go gettem, tiger,' she encourages, once she has kissed my forehead, and strolls away to inspect the other stylists' handiwork.

Val appears moments later, done up in the coronation dress for a queen. Hers is more feminine, yet on inspection, it seems forced, the corset an uncomfortable prison to her still-recovering belly, her breasts pulled up to an angle at makes even me uncomfortable. Despite the discomfort, she grimaces, and mills around with me, waiting for the other districts to appear. I compliment her style, and the pain in her features eases a little when she hears.

Two of us are to be wearing crowns now, yet we both know that there'll only be one who can reign supreme.

**Jeremiah Garner, 13 (written by Elim9)**

**District 8 Male**

I thought the point of the chariot rides was to make us look _good_.

I don't say that, of course, but, looking at the outfits they want us to wear, it's hard to believe that anyone thought this was a good idea. A pair of white robes wouldn't have been a bad idea by itself, but they're badly stained, almost in tatters, clearly designed to look like they've been worn for decades. Maybe centuries.

Along with each of the robes, we're presented with a belt that looks like it's made of some sort of animal skin, a pair of sandals, and a crown-like headpiece decorated with faded brown leaves.

Finally, Adalyn works up the courage to ask what we've both been wondering. "What _are_ they?"

Leandra, her stylist, giggles a little. "Why, my dear little darling, you're the Three Fates."

"The mythical beings who weave the thread of life of us mere mortals from birth to death," my stylist, Felix, chimes in.

"Get it?" Leandra giggles hopefully. "Weaving? Thread? District Eight? It's perfect!"

"But there are only two of us," Adalyn points out, as if that's the only problem with the idea.

Leandra clicks her tongue dismissively. "Details, details. The point is, you're making a statement – that you're weaving your own destiny! That you're prepared to cut the life-threads of the other tributes in order to achieve your own victory. That a beautiful pattern can be fashioned from even the roughest thread."

Adalyn and I exchange a glance, hoping she meant that as a compliment. But I have a hard time imagining either of us "cutting the life-thread" of another tribute. And she conveniently ignored the fact that, in order for one of us "achieve our own victory," the other's thread will have to be cut.

And maybe it's a nice gesture – suggesting that we're in control of our own destinies – but the fact remains that we're not. We're not in control of anything. We're not even in control of what sort of ridiculous costume we have to wear tonight.

And, regardless of the intent, the fact remains that the costumes are hideous.

But we say nothing. Our mentors have instructed us to go along with whatever the stylists have in mind, and, if I'm being perfectly honest, I don't exactly have any better ideas. District Eight doesn't really lend itself to ideas for glamorous outfits. And, if nothing else, their idea is original. I don't think anyone's ever dressed their tributes up as ugly mythical weavers before.

There's probably a reason for that.

Soon, the pair of us are dressed in the robes, ugly sandals on our feet, dying leaves crowning our heads. "Just one last thing," Leandra giggles, holding up a pair of eye patches.

"Technically, the three fates are supposed to share one eye between them," Felix explains, "but we didn't think it was fair to deprive either of you of the chance to see the other chariots – or the audience – so we're amending the legend."

Leandra hands one of the eye patches to me, and the other to Adalyn. "It's the thought that counts."

I consider telling her that I'd be perfectly happy to wear a blindfold – that I'd rather not see the Capitol, the audience, or our own outrageous outfits – but I think better of it. Adalyn shrugs and straps the eye patch over her left eye. I strap mine over my right.

"Excellent!" Leandra beams. "Now, you'll find some special props once you get to the chariot. Make good use of them, and give the audience a show to remember!"

"Props?" Adalyn asks. "What sort of props?"

Leandra giggles a little – giggles that quickly turn to snorts of laughter. "Oh, you'll just have to wait and see. I do love surprises."

I don't. I've had quite enough of them lately. But Adalyn simply shrugs, taking it all in stride. Maybe even enjoying it a little.

Because it's a distraction. One more distraction from the fact that, very soon, we'll be fighting for our lives. Seeing our own life-threads unravel before our eyes. Twenty-three threads cut short, one irreparably frayed.

Maybe a little distraction isn't such a bad thing, after all.


	17. At The Chariots: Don't Live In The Past

**A/N (Glossy): **One more chapter after this today!

**Jezebel Kalhsi, 17 (written by LoxFox)**

**District 7 Female**

Trees. How flippin' original. The people that come up with these 'same-old, same-old' ideas should be rounded up and shot.

Though I can't fault it, not this year. I have been dressed in a floor-length, camouflaged gown that trails around my feet like water, textured to look like the rough-hewn crag of bark, despite its silky feel. Elegant, the train sweeps along across the lino as the dress tightly hugs my figure, the back part comprised of a deluge of tiny, fragile leaves that spill onto the floor behind me. Braided into my hair, a wreath of flowers and leaves hangs down the side of my face and hair, and tiny beads adorn the dress in their masses.

Ivy-covered, the chariot stands accompanied by a pair of snorting, speckled brown horses that paw at the ground, raring to go. Steadfastly staying by the chariot, Paulo is dressed similarly to me, but he's skulking in the background instead of seizing the opportunity to grab himself an ally or two.

Across from me, I discreetly eye up the careers. They're a downright miserable lot this year: with some districts, the two are almost guaranteed in their pathetic futility, but it's unusual to see such a sorry pack from the Capitol's favourites. Even they look irritated with their pick of the crop. In their lump-of-rock costumes or lobster outfits, they seem decidedly dissatisfied, and so I know that now is my time to grab their attention.

I saunter over, making sure that I'm putting out the right impression. I wanna look mean, but not too far from the restraints of reason. A few years ago, the boy from Four went completely nuts, and you could see the others' reluctance to pair up. No, I want to show them that I'll be a valuable addition to their roster, then slice their throats while they sleep.

The one nearest to me is the girl from One, so I decide to speak with her first. Not that much older then me, I don't think, and so she looks sympathetic enough. I get talking, then express my desire to join with their alliance. Hesitant at first, she warms to the idea once I detail my training and ability to her, and suggest that I give her a demonstration in the training centre. Cautious, she says she'll think about it, but I can read her face, and she's open to the idea. Now, I don't want to seem overly-eager or pushy, so I thank her for her time, making sure that I tone down my attitude.

Reassured, I remind myself that it could have gone worse.

Less reassured, I make a mental note never to think like that again; sod's law prevails, and the boy from Two squares up to me, narrowing his hostile eyes in contempt. 'Oh? Whadda we have here?' he leers, and I brace myself for a beating. But I rise to his challenge, (because he looks a right idiot in that monstrosity of a costume) my temper flaring and getting away from me, and as soon as I have done that, my stomach fills with butterflies. My mind crowds with expletives, and I ready myself for a solid punch in someplace both painful and undignified.

Rising above the rabble, his stylist's voice calls him back as he is about to put me out of action for good, and he wavers, before sending me off with a spiteful statement that- as much as I despise admitting it- does manage to demoralise me, and I can feel my assurances dropping away as he insults me.

'Go back to climbing trees, bitch. You ain't wanted here.'

'Hey, hey,' that's the boy from One, trying to calm down his vindictive teammate. 'That was uncalled for, Mitchell-'

He's quickly cut off, as the boy from Two goes in for a hefty slug to the other tribute's face, roaring 'It's Marshall' with a ferocity that almost instils fear in me. I sidle away, pretending I was never there.

Dammit. Dammit, Jez, you're useless, pathetic. If the other tributes won't take you seriously, what hope do you have in the Capitol?

No, I banish those thoughts, and look elsewhere for sources of entertainment. The boy from Ten momentarily catches my eye, and even though we both look away, I saw his reapings, and know he'll be one to watch. Hell, he might even be worth abandoning the careers for.

Then there rings out a cue call, a spirited 'Let's go then, hup, hup, hup,' as my stylist fiddles with a bit of last-minute makeup and hairstyling. 'Outcha go, femme fatale,' he winks suggestively at me, and I feel a little disgusted at his actions, enough so to think about trying to nab him in the neck. Rationalising, I resist the urge. God, I need to suppress my violent wants in here, penning them all up before I get into the arena, ready to dispatch any who stand in my way. Allies or no allies.

Besides, the careers this year are mostly useless and weak, and I don't want to be dragged down by them anyway.

**Sage Tressney, 14 (written by stuckathomebgs)**

**District 9 Female**

I saunter into the elevator, curious about what the other tributes will actually be like. You can tell some stuff from the reapings, volunteering, how old they are, how determined, and, most important, how weak. But this will reveal much more, how they interact with each other.

It's like brewing a chemical, you get good chemistry, or extremely bad. Where the whole lab explodes. Well, that's at least what they show on the screens of District 9.

I, once again, ignore this boy next to me, even though I should know him, I don't. Not his age, economic situation, or family. But I forget about him as the anxiety of seeing the other tributes drives a sigh from my throat.

The elevator opens, seeing most of the other tributes there. I recognize some of them right off the bat, like the Careers, and Droplet from District 4, who I heard isn't in the Career pack.

Next is the extremely smart girl from District 5, whom I have yet to hear a name.

Next is the pair from District 6, who aren't drug addicts, like many of their people. The girl from 6 is particularly young, the youngest, since no twelve year olds were reaped this year. The boy from her district is the opposite, he's muscular, eighteen, one of about four, and I hear the Capitol crowds cheering for him. He could be tough to beat.

That's when I see the Careers talking in a corner, with both from 1 and 2 and the boy from 4, only five of the blood thirsty beasts should help out this year, since they won't attack with the force of six.

I hurry over to my chariot, with a black horse and a roan one with many different colors, like the bread they give to the poor in District 9.

I receive the elaborately decorated scythe, with many different types of grain, I recognize wheat, rye, barley, and others that the designers have probably made up.

"Are you ready to go?" asks my stylist, Rebecca, who I haven't met since yesterday, with plain blonde hair and green eyes with a surprisingly intellectual glint in them.

"Maybe, I don't really want to go out there, since I won't need sponsors." I say with a laugh, that she responds. She gets me, I like her.

"Yeah, if you're using the stealthy strategy, I'd say go for it, you're obviously capable." Rebecca beamed. "I can't wait to see you in the arena, you'll be exciting to watch."

That's puzzling. I thought she wasn't like the rest of the people from the Capitol.

That's when I see the District 4 female mentor, Darian Kloet, stride over to his tribute.

I fume with anger, this hatred I've had for this man, for killing my best friend, is about ready to go out, I stare daggers at him, which he finally picks up, and walks over to me.

"What's your problem?" Darian asks. "District 9 isn't going to win, Koi is going to top you all."

"You killed my best friend." I spit in his face. "She was the little one you carelessly killed. Her mom died of alcoholism shortly after the Games ended."

"Why should I care? I killed lots of tributes and if I didn't I would be dead." He hisses on, like a snake on the prowl. "Your friend was weak and that meant that she didn't get to live. What did you want me to do? Let her kill me? That wasn't going to happen."

That's when things get hazy. I punch him in the face, leaving him shocked. I snicker, this hypocritical worm is about a strong as a wet piece of bread.

I walk over to my chariot, where Samson, I heard his name, stands shocked.

"He killed my friend in his Games." I mutter embarrassed. I only see that a couple of people saw it, which included the one person I didn't want to know, Ronny Prinsen, my mentor.

"What the heck was that?" He spits in my face.

"He murdered my best friend." I utter angrily.

He slaps me then, very hard, with the sting of about five bees on that left cheek.

"You fool, don't LIVE IN THE PAST!" Ronny yells. "THAT'S HOW YOU STAY OUT OF THE GAMES' TOUCH, SO IF YOU ACTUALLY WIN, KEEP YOUR FEELINGS TO YOURSELF!"

I about start to cry, but then I see some of the mentors looking at me, contemplating what I'm about to do.

I shove the tears back, as if they weren't there and ready the wheat and the scythe and prepare for the crowds of the Capitol.


	18. Chariot Rides: Quite The Costumes

**A/N (Glossy): **Final chapter for today! Fallen Leaves bloodbath will be posted tomorrow so look out for that too! Also, I will be editing training chapters to make tribute's skills more realistic. I've had some tributes that would put Katniss to shame with their skills so far. I know my chapter is super short, because I had an event happen, if you need to know, PM me. I just don't want to put it in a public story.

**Niyko Kiyan, 16 (written by Emimawi)**

**District 5 Male**

Anxiously, I run my hands down my costume- trying to get rid of any wrinkles or creases. Though the plan is to act like I don't care, the prospect of standing before such an overwhelming crowd is daunting, and my heart is pounding heavily in my chest- like a hammer.

The costume is pretty awful, I have to say. Arielle and I don a sort of lightning bolt oufit. At least she has it better than me, her stylist has had the decency to add the additional highlight of makeup to her face, and have curled her hair. I'm as dull as ever.

Our chariot is dark, and covered by twinkling lights. It's being pulled by two steel grey horses- and it looks much better than the both of us combined. Outshone by a chariot, great.

It's not like I care what people think of me anyways. Nah. It's just the thing that will decide whether or not they decide to sponsor me, minus my score and interview. It's just kind of a matter of life and death, sort of. No big deal. I'm not freaking out.

Oh who am I kidding? This is a mental breakdown waiting to happen.

Whatever I thought yesterday, my rebelling- was just the thoughts of an angry kid. Now that I'm faced with the very real prospect of dying, being thrown into an area with 23 kids all pitted against each other, waiting for death… I'm just like the rest of them. Maybe I will try, and maybe I will show them. I hope I do. But for now, I need to focus on staying alive.

Hah, what a joke.

I hear my stylist, Chiron, cry out before I see him- and Ariella and I turn our head in unison to view his feathered coat and rainbow mohawk. He pulls a bit of a face at seeing me, I know he's deemed me as unsuitable for the second I met him (though the prep team said I was 'cute'). After a brief moment of contemplation, he yells something out to me.

"Glasses, off!" he demands. I stare at him blankly. Is he stupid? I can't see a thing without them! I'm about to respond, but the look he gives me tells me that he'll make my interview outfit hell if I don't comply. Reluctantly, I stuff them in my pocket. Great, now I'm blind.

District One begins to clatter out, the sound of hooves on pavement drowned out by the thunderstorm of cheers and shouts from the crowd. Two begins to clatter forward, and slowly we're all moving in a line closer and closer to the crowd.

"You okay?" Arielle frowns, her dark hair framing her face.

I gulp. "Yeah..." I manage to squeeze out.

Just in time too, as our chariot pulls out the second after I respond, blinding us momentarily as our eyes adjust to the neon floodlights. Everything is a blur, and it's not because of my lack of glasses. My stomach gives a lurch, and suddenly I'm fighting to keep down my lunch. I can feel my face grow pale, so I clench my fists and try to remain staring forwards- perhaps a fake smile would help? It must be movement, I get travel sick. Or maybe nerves?

People are still screeching our names, our first names. I hear cries of 'Arielle' and 'Niyko' from all around us, and it's all I can do not to projectile vomit on them. This is the worst.

Finally, we finish our round and come to a stop for the anthem. I know the president is up there, but between my queasiness and blindness, all I can see is a blur. The next few minutes are torture, and we pull in not a moment too soon, as once we're covered I begin reaching. I can see out of corner of my eye Arielle, fumbling for a bag or something. When she realizes it's fruitless, she still manages to put her arm around me.

It's a few minutes until I'm done, my stomach finally emptied. Now I can hear the hysterical laughter, is that the girl from Two?

Whatever, let them think of me as weak. I'll be dead soon anyways.

**Adalyn Rhodes, 14 (written by Elim9)**

**District 8 Female**

So that's what they meant by "props."

Inside the chariot, Jeremiah and I find a small spinning wheel and a loom. Jeremiah looks skeptical as we climb inside, but I simply shrug. It could be worse. A lot worse. A few years ago, the tributes were dressed as giant knitting needles. The year before that, they were big, round buttons. So it could be worse.

But it could also be a lot better.

I adjust my eye patch as Jeremiah takes a seat by the spinning wheel. Maybe he's hoping that if he sits down and ducks low enough, the audience won't see him. I take my place by the loom, instead, and begin to work the thread. It feels good in my hands, but it's quickly obvious I have no idea what I'm doing. "Ever done this before?" I ask Jermiah as the first of the chariots start rolling on ahead of us.

He shakes his head. "We use sewing machines at the factory – a lot more sophisticated than this. But I suppose they were aiming for old-fashioned. You?"

"First time," I agree. My parents work in the factories, but I spend most of my time after school taking care of my younger siblings. Which is a job, in a way, I suppose. After all, _someone _has to do it, and my parents certainly don't have the time.

I suppose it'll be Francine's job now.

_Stop thinking like that. Focus on something else._

"Well, it's not as if anyone in the audience is going to know the difference," I point out. Most of them have probably never _seen_ cloth being made, let alone had a hand in it. I continue working the loose thread through the parts that are already stretched across the loom. Jeremiah starts spinning the wheel, gently pressing one of the pedals.

This isn't so bad.

Then again, this was never the part I was worried about. The lights, the audience, the show – this part isn't bad. Jeremiah looks uncomfortable as our chariot starts rolling, but, as the audience comes into view, I realize I'm smiling a little.

If it weren't for the fact that this ride is bringing us a little closer to our deaths, this might actually be fun.

But there's no ignoring it, in the end – no matter how hard we try. The audience isn't really interested in seeing us weave fabric. They don't want to see us _make_ things. They don't want to see things being fashioned or built or created. They want to see destruction. They want to see death.

They want to see everything fall apart.

The thread in my hands begins to shake, and, suddenly, it feels like _I'm _the one who's about to fall apart. After all, it's _my _thread that's about to be cut. _My _life that's about to be ended. My life is as fragile as one of the threads in my hand. One wrong move, and—

"Adalyn," Jeremiah whispers, just loudly enough for me to hear. Then he nods towards the thread at the end of the spinning wheel, which has begun to shimmer – a bright gold, rather than the grey thread on the loom.

He smiles a little as he keeps spinning, and more golden thread appears. I nearly burst out laughing. What a clever trick. The thread's covered in some sort of golden dye that must be applied somewhere along the spinning wheel, but I don't bother looking too closely. I simply snatch up some of the golden thread and begin weaving it into the grey thread on the loom. Soon, the loom is shining.

Jeremiah and I share a smile. This is what we are, the two of us. Weavers. Builders. Creators. Not destroyers. We were meant to raise things up, not tear them down.

So that's what we'll do. We'll build each other up. Keep each other steady. Maybe they'll still tear us down, but we won't go down easily. We won't go quietly. We won't go gently.

Maybe threads are fragile, but weave enough of them together, and they're hard to break.

**Willem Wexler, 18 (written by Glossy-12)**

**District 10 Male**

I like my costume.

We are dressed as ranchers, which is what I am back home, so it feels natural to be in boots and a large cowboy hat. The horses remind me of home too and I fed the pair that we got lots of sugar cubes before getting in our chariot. The careers grouped up already, but they don't look particularly strong this year, which is good for all of us outer district tributes. Talking to Thyme revealed that she is pretty good with knife throwing since she is a butcher. I have no idea how cutting up meat with foot long knives translates into throwing them, but that's what she's got.

I feel a jolt as our chariot starts to move. The higher districts have already had their chariots pulled out of the station, so we are starting to move now. District 1 is getting a lot of attention from what I can see, and 7, 8, and 9 are still getting a lot from the crown.

The bright lights hit us as we pull out into the road and I look up to see bright colors that I never imagined possible. The ground is littered with flowers and jewels and other things that the crowd must have thrown at the more favorable districts. Some boquets and trinkets are being thrown at us, but not nearly as much as 1 or 2 must have gotten.

The crowd is cheering in such a wonderful way. For just a little while, I forget why I am here, and the Capitol seems like the most lovely place on earth. They really aren't super horrible, they are letting us have a nice last week of life. They could've killed us brutally, but one of us gets the chance to win.

We pull into a circle and President Snow does his little speech. I look over and give a smile to Thyme.


	19. Training Day 1: You Volunteered Too

**A/N (Glossy): **Bloodbath for FL is going up today, so if you are reading that then that's exciting. I'm just waiting for two more POVS now. I made some edits to people's POVS, but they are pretty trivial. Also, if you put dialogue with one of my character's and they say things, I reserve the right to change it up.

**Amelia 'Ame" Vale, 17 (written by Emimawi)**

**District 2 Female**

From everything I've heard, really, I expected training to be amazing. I'm not disappointed at all, the place is huge- at least double the size of the one at the training school back home. There are endless racks of weapons, bows and arrows, knives and maces. Littering are the less important skills, rope stuff and whatever else.

The Capitol hasn't ceased to please me, though I can't say I give much of a damn about them as a whole. The train rides were fine, albeit boring. Now this is what I've been dying for- this and the games. I almost want to grab one of those intricate bows and skewer another tribute through the heart. It's against the rules though, dammit. Either way, the kid from 9 looks like an easy target. I think I'll get him once the games start.

Tearing my eyes away, my head turns to the weapon section once again. Lo and behold, Marshall is standing there, glaring pointedly at me and playing with an almost dainty axe. His smile is twisted, as if he wants me to get pissed.

Never gonna happen, asshole. Instead, I just give him a smile and turn around towards the climbing section. My frustration melts into determination as I clamber up, finding the right nooks and crannies- easily surpassing some other kid. Marshall has really been a thorn in my side, between his constant tormenting of our mentor to his sexist comments. I hope he isn't like that in interviews, he'll give our District a bad name. Even Careers have standards.

Once I'm at the top, I have a clear view of the entire centre. From my vantage point, none of the other Careers can see me. They're grouped near the running track. It's obvious we're not going to last long- if any time at all. The tributes from One -the girl might be good, but neither have the heart to win- the guy from four -that girl, what's-her-face, is absent- and Marshall. I scowl, causing the bruise on my cheek to hurt. Right after I was able to see visitors, the assigned girl walked up and slapped me across the cheek. The bitch had a ring too, left a cut. Whatever.

I wonder what's up with the others, because there's obviously some tension between them. Marshall's barking something at the guy from One- hah, he's not making himself popular with them either. See, that's the problem with him. He doesn't give a fuck, about anything. Appearances are a whole lot more that they make out to be. I've got the talent AND the charisma. Marshall, brawn isn't all there is.

I wonder how fun it will be when I slice his head off.

Deciding to join them, I scamper back down- walking cooly to them, making sure my feet make audible noise as I join them. My plan's easy. Enhance the tension, get them to hate each other so much that they'll just be begging to kill each other. And then I'll just finish the job for them. I wonder how far I can push them. Won't it be fun, watching them murder each other in front of me. Manipulation is easy for me, as much as an axe is just an extension of my arm. Ooh, how fun!

Honestly, I almost contemplated not joining them at all. After all, it's much more fun when you get to be an outsider and kill them all. It'll be like a double bloodbath- double the fun. The Capitol will love it!

It's not like I give a shit about them, though. With their airy heads and rainbow hair, they almost make me sick. It's like I'm in some five year old girl's dream, like some endless candyland. The food is great, the room is the best. Everything else comes second to the games.

Maybe I'm a bit pleased that Marshall is pushing our mentor around. He's staring at me now, a condescending look plastered on his ugly face. How could anyone prefer him over me? I'm everything they love. Him, on the other hand.

"Hey." I say, breezily. Their eyes snap on me, and I'm loving the attention.

I wonder how they'll die. Marshall's looking at me again,his eyes flashing dangerously. 'You'll never win...'

Oh honey, that's where you're wrong. I always win.

**Lorna Faye, 16 (written by LoxFox)**

**District 12 Female**

Day one. Here we are.

I sit at the firelighting station, coaxing a tiny, glowering ember into life. This is my third station of the day; I've ensured that I know the basics of staying alive, and checking out the plant station first thing in the morning was my priority, before the copious amounts of lunch where I fidgeted, disinterested, with the meagre amount of food I'd allowed myself to pick up. Last year's arena was a bit of an odd one, as was the one before, so now I'm pretty certain we're going to have a nice, regular forest-and-lake combination.

Rumours are spreading, though, about a meadow and idyllic paradise, perfect in every way; a rustic utopia for us to massacre each other in. Yet from what I've heard, the looks are deceptive and it's really a poisonous mess of deadly plants and killer mutts, even with another blanketed volcano in the background, a time bomb waiting to go off. That's my best bet- it would make a nice twist for the new head gamemaker, much more likely than the typical, run-of the mill arena. Gods, when did killing people become standard, everyday?

Even so, I was brushing up on the plants, affirming that I know everything I need before I go in. It'd be my skill- I've got a knack for this sort of thing, a penchant for memorising all the intricacies of the plants. This will be my most useful talent, so that when I get into that arena, I can outwit the careers and stay alive, when it does indeed turn out to swing in my favour.

I've found myself a skill. I've found myself a bit of hope.

Camouflage was a little monotonous, all about breaking up the shape of the body, misshaping the outlines. It was all rather samey; I'm in no way an expert as far as artistic prowess would go, but I'm comfortable with the basics. I abandoned that station when one of the other tributes approached, politely leaving the stand to drift off somewhere else. Several stations were free, but the medical one was occupied, and I don't especially feel like making friends as of late.

So I found myself my own little area, surreptitiously tucked away in the corner, away from the others, and began teaching myself the art of creating a fire. There's a few crisply-laminated sheets on the wall, showing tips and tricks for the perfect little blaze, and I try to adhere to their suggestions as I breathe life into the flame.

Within the flickering of the thing before me, I can see its enthralling beauty, dancing like a wisp, almost as if there's a creature there in the midst, the tendrils of blackening smoke and clandestine light staring back into my soul. It's almost hypnotic in its motion; licking back and forth, reaching, striving for the heavens, just out of reach. My mother said never to play with fire. This thing, though, this is telling me something else entirely.

I don't want to extinguish it, don't want to put it out. I'd far rather let it kindle into its destructive life and allow it to raze everything in its path, cleansing it all, sterilising the world of the filth and tainted prejudice. Makes me wonder why nobody has ever tried to burn this hateful place down to the ground- maybe they're too scared of what the authorities would find left over in the ashes.

Rueful, I'm almost tempted to set light to something, to spark a fire of far greater scale than this pathetic little glimmer of heat, burn this centre to the ground. Several times, I'm almost ready to do it, to rush out enwreathed in glorious flame, sweeping destruction and entropy in my wake. But every time, I back down- I can't see myself doing it, burning up in a phoenix-like wraith of energy and chaos, bringing this place down with me.

But I keep my head down, trying not to draw attention to myself, hiding away in the little confines of my own personal sanctuary. I don't have the guts for this sort of thing, instead retreating back into myself to try and evade my imminent demise. An introvert by nature, I'm meek, reserved, and I almost certainly couldn't bring myself to do that.

Note the almost.

**Adalyn Rhodes, 14 (written by Elim9)**

**District 8 Female**

We have no idea what we're doing.

That much is quickly clear. For a while, Jeremiah and I simply wander aimlessly from station to station, trying to pick up a little of this and a little of that. But there's so much. So many stations, so many different things to learn – each one of which could be the one that ends up saving our lives in the arena.

How are we supposed to choose?

We both seem to be in agreement, at least, that the survival stations are our best option. That three days isn't anywhere near long enough to learn how to use a weapon. And neither of us is in a real hurry to learn how to kill. How to rip another tribute to shreds with a sword or an axe, how to bash their head in with a club, how to slit their throat with a knife.

We'd rather learn how to keep each other alive.

Try as I might, however, one thought keeps resurfacing, over and over. We can't keep each other alive forever. We can't both survive. We can't both live.

Chances are, of course, that neither of us will. Chances are, I won't have to worry about the possibility of killing Jeremiah. Chances are, we'll both be dead long before the thought would have crossed my mind.

"Adalyn?" Jeremiah asks, and I realize I've ruined my snare. Again. I give a cry of frustration and fling it to the ground. I can't even get a simple snare right. How are we supposed to learn anything with the thought of the Games constantly hanging over our heads? How are we supposed to focus on training when the other tributes in this room are going to be trying to kill us soon?

Jeremiah's snare isn't faring much better than mine. Clearly, neither of us has a knack for this. I don't want to give up so quickly, but it feels as if we're wasting the little time we have. "Maybe we should try something else," I suggest reluctantly.

"Like what?" Jeremiah asks, trying to mask the annoyance in his voice. It's hard to blame him. We've already been to the knot-tying station, the fire-starting station, and the edible plants station, without much success.

I glance around the room, and quickly spot an empty first aid station. The trainer, an older man, catches my eye and smiles a little. "How about there?" I ask, gesturing in his direction.

Jeremiah shrugs agreeably. "Why not. Can't be much worse than this." We both head over and take a seat.

The trainer welcomes us with a tired smile. "And who might you be?"

I realize I'm staring. None of the other trainers have asked for our names; they've simply launched straight into instructions without a second thought. "I'm Adalyn," I answer after a moment, recovering my wits. "This is Jeremiah."

"Aldrich," the old man says with a smile. "What brings you to my humble station?"

I hesitate for a moment before answering honestly. "Didn't seem like we were much good at anything else, so we figured we'd try this."

Aldrich chuckles a little at that. "That's the way it always is, isn't it. Certainly the way it was during the war. Don't want to fight? No useful skills? Fine, go be a doctor. Can't do much harm there."

"You were in the war?" I blurt out before I can stop myself. We've learned about the rebellion, of course, but I've never met anyone who fought in it – no one who would talk about it, at least.

Aldrich doesn't seem offended. "_In_ is a relative term, my dear. I'm no soldier, but I did my part. Patched up children so they could go off and fight again. Healed them so they could be wounded again. Saved them so that they had another chance to die." He shakes his head wearily. "I thought I'd seen the worst that death had to offer. I was wrong."

Jeremiah and I exchange a confused glance. The old man is so unlike the other Capitolites we've met. The other trainers are so enthusiastic, so eager to share their skills. Aldrich doesn't seem like he wants to be here at all. "So why are you…?" I start, before realizing it's probably rude to ask.

"Why am I here?" Aldrich finishes, unfazed. "Because, regardless of whether I enjoy this or not, I am very good at what I do. And because they asked _so_ nicely," he adds with a wry smile.

Of course. He didn't have a choice. No more than we do. For a moment, I almost feel sorry for him.

But then it hits me again. In a few weeks, he'll still be here. He'll still be alive. We're the ones who are going to be fighting for our lives in a few days. We don't have time to feel sorry for anyone else.

Aldrich seems to understand my expression. "Quite right – back to business. Not much point in self-pity – for either of us. So I suppose we'll start with these." He reaches for a stack of bandages.

"Let's see what you can do."

**Thyme Flanvia, 16 (written by HestiaAbnegation11)**

**District 10 Female**

I am throwing knives at the knife throwing station and it hits dead center. Jackpot. The girl next to me is trying to throw it right, but it is just landing on the floor each time.

"You're supposed to throw so the weight is on the far side, would that be the blade or the handle?" I ask her?

She blinks, confused. "Umm... What? The handle?"

"The blade. In all the blade is heavier than the handle. Like this." I say holding the blade out and with a little motion I flick it and it flies and hits close to the center. "That's how you do it."

She tries to mimic me, but it spins as it flies toward the target, and hits near the edge. Well, the handle, anyway. She groans. "I am never going to get this!"

"Don't worry, practice makes perfect, Eleven." I smirk at her. I set up her hands so she can throw.

She flicks the knife, and it hits in one of the inner rings. "Thanks!" She gasps, thankful.

"You're welcome. What's your name?" I ask throwing a knife and hitting the target.

She grips it the same way again, sending it flying towards approximately the same spot. "Ophelia. What's yours?"

"Thyme. District Ten. The Careers aren't the only ones who can ally, right?" I whisper and the knife hits an inner ring.

Ophelia squeals happily before turning to Thyme. "Well, I'd be stupid if I didn't understand this proposal! Allies?" I hold out my hand.

I see the careers staring us down and shake her hand "True. We should find one more person, just to be safe."

Ophelia winks. "Are you suuure? I think the Careers are stupid enough to think we're harmless, we might not need another person!"

I think it over, it's true, but maybe one more person wouldn't hurt. "Maybe her?" I ask pointing to the girl from 5 at the plant station

She thinks it over for a second. "Hmm, why her?"

"We may need someone to identify which plants to eat. She looks really intelligent." I reply looking at the brown haired girl who is flicking her hands over the screen so fast.

She nods. "OOH, she does look smart. And we're gonna need that if we're going up against the stupids." She points to the Careers.

I giggle and we walk toward the District Five girl and I ask "How are you?"

"Fine, what are you guys doing?" Five asks puzzled.

Ophelia facepalms. "Thyme! You don't ask someone how they're doing! This is the Hunger Games! NO ONE is truly doing fine!"

"Well, its an honest question, and District Ten thinks that we should all ask it before talking to someone." I say looking at the girl carefully as she goes back to the plant session flicking her hands over the screen.

"Well, it may have been, but this isn't the place for 'honest questions.'" Ophelia says snorting

"Maybe not. Well, Five, allies?" I ask her rubbing my forehead.

"Sure. Why not?" The girl says.

"What's your name, sweetie?" Ophelia asks looking like a total weirdo, almost bending down to a girl that is her height.

"Arielle." Arielle snaps at her.

Huh. That was easy. "Cool! Can you show us your plant knowledge?" Ophelia asks her.

Arielle sniggers and then suggests, "Well, um... you could watch me once than ask me about some of the berries?"

"Agreed." I say and look at Ophelia.

Ophelia seems to think it over for a few seconds then agrees as well. Arielle turns to the board and her fingers fly over the berries, leaves and nuts and the board congratulates her. I see top scores above her

1. Kemp Hokken District: 7 Score: 971

2. Arielle Seine District: 5 Score: 964

3. Thicket Moors District: 11 Score: 945

Wow. She must be amazing at this!

"Whoa! You're really good!" Ophelia exclaims and I nod in agreement.

"Thanks. Any questions?" She asks looking at us both in turn.

"What about the one you missed?" Ophelia asks looking at the one red spot.

"Stupid me. It's ashbury, it can either heal you beyond measure or it can kill you." Arielle says.

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat? How can it do both?" Ophelia asks and I'm laughing my head off at the what.

"Capitol engineered." Arielle says shaking her head.

"Oh. When does it kill and when does it heal?" Ophelia asks, confused, and to be honest I am too.

"One third of the time it heals and the other 2/3 it doesn't heal." Arielle says.

"Scary." Ophelia whispers and it sends me over the top. I am laughing, and everyone is staring at me weirdly.

"Yeah. But, it is nice to know them even if we might not encounter them." Arielle says factually.

We move on to some other things and I think the alliance is going well. Arielle is basically our survivalist, Ophelia is our people person and I am the weapons person, so we have an equal balance of everything! We try the plant test again, and Arielle smokes us, with a perfect score.

Ophelia beats me by one point 642 to 641 and she brags like the whole time. I just want to tell her to shut her pie hole, but since we are allies I don't. At lunch we have a nice sandwich which I dig into! It has nice beef from District Ten. Thank goodness. I guess Training Day 1 was a success, two allies, that's good.

I leave the Training Center almost last to a couple careers. Oh well. I arrive at the District Ten floor and sink into a chair since I was so tired.

**Ophelia Norse, 15 (written by mykindleisawesome)**

**District 11 Female**

I have a totally goofy smile on my face, I know it. But I can't help it, I have two allies! That's a lot better than some people have, so I guess I should be lucky.

If there's such thing as luck, I ponder as I do the plants thing again. Well, I'm already in the Games, so... who knows what kind of idiot considers that lucky. Except for most Careers. But some are just plain stupid.

The boy from two- Mitchell, maybe?- he seems scary. The two girls still in the alliance seem kinda... calm. Not what you'd expect. The girl from Four hasn't officially said no, but it's pretty obvious that she's avoiding them for a reason.

Her partner has been glaring at her on and off, she probably angered him again. Wouldn't be hard to figure out how, she's a ditz and he's got the older brother Victor. Speaking of which, I think the girl from Nine, Sage, punched him in the face. Serves him right. I think he killed her friend or something. I would've congratulated her, but I was too busy thinking about my sucky costume.

I finish up at the plant station, finally getting 700, and getting tired of that. I see the girl from Four- Droplet, I think- at the knot tying station. Strange station for a Career, but I go over there, too.

The trainer begins to instruct me on how to make a simple knot, and I begin to work on it, slowly. Mainly because the Careers joined Droplet. Now this will be good.

"Ooh, hi Koi!" Droplet exclaims, not bothering to look up from her rope. "I finally decided that, though I don't particularly like either of you, I think I like your brother better. Can you tell him that for me?" She finishes making the snare and holds it up, inspecting it and smiling. "He's better looking than you, and hasn't annoyed me anywhere near as much as you have."

I snicker quietly, and the boy from one glares at me, but not drawing attention to me. I finish the knot and begin to do it again. Ohh man, am I glad to be here right now...

Droplet looks up thoughtfully. "You know, I think I like most of you. Except for Fishy here and Mitchell back there." The boy from Two bristles and lunges forward, the boy from One holding him back.

"It's-" Droplet cuts him off, bored. She begins making another knot. Ooh, this is so exciting! Much better than those TV shows they have here in my suite. I finish the knot and begin to make it again.

"Uh huh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Marshall, I don't really care. Oh, and Garrett, good job. Nice keeping your pet on his leash." Droplet fake yawns, and holds up a finger to shush Marshall, who was on the verge of yelling at her again. Man she's getting on everyone's nerves.

She finishes another, simpler snare, and holds it up, smiling proudly. "There we go! Perfect." Then she looks up at the Careers, as if just realizing that they're still there. This is so obviously an act, and she's good at it!

"Oh. Why are you over here, sorry, it's so rude of me not to ask." She smiles almost angelically, and I notice her feet bouncing up and down, that's why she's not exploding.

Koi glares at her- Oh, I think koi is a kind of fish or something- "Well, we wanted you to know that you are the first one dead in the arena. Don't even think of trying to join us. Don't act like you're better than us. You volunteered to kill these kids too."

She snorts, shrieking with laughter. "Oh, t-that's positively HILARIOUS! Y-you want to k-kill me?! Oh please! Fishy, I will never get killed by you freaks." Her voice goes cold the end there, and she stands up. "You won't kill me."

By now most of the room is watching what's going down. The Careers know they have an audience, and want to make a show of it. "

"Well, I guess Mitchell doesn't like being called a pet." I say. Droplet's head whips up, and she smiles.

"Of course he doesn't, silly! I was annoying him, it's one of my specialties!" She adopts over to me. "Now, here's how you do a snare like the one I did..."

* * *

><p>Ohh, I've had a very successful day so far! Friends with a Career, two allies, and I think I've found a weapon! Thyme and I were some of the last ones out, with Droplet and someone else last.<p>

I sit down on the couch, tired. "Ugh, Dana, I'm exhausted." Dana's my stylist. She apologized repeatedly for my sucky chariot rides outfit- I was a carrot! A CARROT!- apparently she had a great idea that went up in flames. Not surprising, actually. The carrot was well made, so I didn't doubt her skills.

With luck, I'll look great for the interviews. If this so-called 'Luck' still exists.

**Valeria Latrelle, 17 (written by LokiThisIsMadness)**

**District 1 Female**

"Throw it, Garrett. Let's see if you haven't lost your touch."

"What does it matter to you?" He asks, a smug grin on his face. "C'mon Val, we both know that party is your middle name. Not work."

Rolling my eyes, I wave my hand in front of him and put on a serious face. "Used to be, you know. I'm a mother now. I don't even remember what's like being in a party, anymore."

As he raises his arm to throw the axe, I watch his every movement. It's true, he has changed a bit, but haven't we all? But I know that deep inside, Garrett is still the same boy that I trained it in the Academy for six years. I can't forget that he doesn't want any of this, either.

I step back, watching Garrett's axe slam right into the dummy's head, taking it down. If he was anyone else, I would be watching his every move, to see how he worked but not Garrett, who is too kind for his own good.

I can't afford to be like him. It's true, I'll have to kill people. If I want to make it home, back to my daughter, that is a sacrifice that I am willing to make. I do plan on making every death as quick as I can, though. I don't everyone at home thinking of me like a monster.

But what if it comes down to me and Garrett?

For a moment, the answer is clear. If it comes down to me and him, I'll kill him. I don't have any other choice. I can't let my daughter grow up without her mother, just like Maggie and I did.

"Hey, earth to Val? Are you still there?" I smile a little. Garrett never fails to make smile, not even when we are about to go to a fight to the death.

Nodding my head, he steps aside, letting me take the space. I really wanted to go to the archery station since training started, it was honestly the only good thing about being here. The other Careers were worst than I thought. I hated the Capitol, but I had to keep my mouth shut or they would never let me have a chance of making it out of the arena.

Shaking my head, I grip the axe on hand and let it fly. It slams right into the dummy's chest, but not completly in the center.

I sigh. Garrett was always better than me in this, anyway. The bow is my weapon, not the axe or a spear. They never felt right in my hands, no matter how many times I tried.

I suppose I was bit rusty after not training for six months, after Juniper was born. I immediately regret the thought.

Juniper.

I wonder how she is doing. She never spent a day without me before and frankly, I would do anything to be able to hold her in my arms again, even if it was only for a few minutes. I think no one here has an idea of how I feel. Sure, they might have siblings that will miss them, but they don't know what it's like.

I love her so much, but I won't juat stand there crying and hoping othera will just kill each other. I'll do whatever I have to do, if it leads me to my daughter.

After a while, I notice that Garrett is resting against the wall, still looking at me.

"You wanna go and join the others?" I suggest, wondering if he's not too happy about being here with me.

Instead, he just pointed at two boys in the fire-making station. "Look at them, Val. It's sick, they shouldn't even be here. They are too young."

I shake my head, but a sudden thought comes to my head. I wouldn't like it if Juniper was here in the place of those boys, would I?

Deep inside, I know that Garrett realizes the same thing. We can't help them, any of them. Not in a place like this, anyway.

I place a hand on his shoulder, hoping that this will calm him a bit. Garrett is the only friend I have in here and I don't plan letting him go down because of some boys that we can't help in any way. "We can't help them, Garrett. You know that."

Suddenly, If I didn't know better, I would say that he was going to snap. "But you did like when people helped you, Val?"

I look away, ashamed. Yes, I did like it. Before Juniper was born, I was a child, in every sense of the word. I couldn't care less about anything and all that mattered to me were the parties, the drinks and the boys. That were ways of distracting myself from the fact that my parents couldn't care less about us. When I got pregnant, I feel like everything changed. But if it wasn't for Vance and his family, me and Maggie would be leaving on the streets.

Instead, Vance took me home and we got married and months later, Juniper was born. I owed him my life and more importantly, our daughter's life. So yes, Garrett had a point.

I cringe at the sudden pain on my still-recovering belly. It was good thanks to my doctor back home, but that corset that I was forced to use in the chariot rides made it worse. Errr.

I nod at him. "You're right, but we don't to turn against each other, Garrett. Don't forget that I've know you since you were a little kid, with messy hair and a big desire to learn." He gives a little smile.

It's true, anyway. We've know each other since we were kids and if we want to survive our fellow members of the pack, we need to stick together. I don't think this pack will lasting too long, though. There's too much tension, anyway.

"What do you say about some knife throwing?" He smiles, takes my arm on his and we walk to the station like this. Together. A team.

For now, it's good to have a friend in here.


	20. Training Day 2: Plant Competition

**A/N (Glossy): **Sorry that this got up so late, I was busy with FL's bloodbath, which is up btw. It's 35 pages so pretty long.

**Sage Tressney, 14 (written by stuckathomebgs)**

**District 9 Female**

I get into the elevator next to Samson, who I've heard is a known morphling addict.

The woman pins the same '9' on my back as yesterday, as I look at what people are doing.

The boy from 10 is lassoing some dummies and pulling them to him to stab, all of the Careers are at their respectable stations. Bruno from 6 is throwing some knives, which is one of the fields he is good at.

I decide to head over to the gauntlet, where tributes try to dodge the stuff that trainers are trying to throw at us. I go up, with the young boy from 8 on the other side. I dodge a stab with a bat, then duck a bat that was thrown at me, which hits the boy square in the chest, he falls off onto the mats below. I get to the end, ready to start the other side.

Dodge, dodge, step, step, I carefully step around the known pitfalls that I've seen many other tributes fall into. I dodge the last swing and land on the mat perfectly when the main trainer, who introduces himself as Nathan, walks over to me.

"You did well." Nathan beamed.

I thank him, very awkward moment, when I finish with that, I head over to the plant matching station, one of the only places where District 9 tributes thrive.

That's when I notice the girl from District 5, Arielle Seine. She's matching plants very fast and accurately, when she mixes up oregano and nightlock, with the oregano plant right next to it. The girl curses and moves out of the way.

"Do you want to have a matching competition?" Asks the girl, kind of with some sass, in my opinion.

"Sure." I respond.

"Do you want to go first, or me?" Arielle inquires.

"You can go first, I'll watch." I respond, motioning to the Capitol device.

Arielle flies through the exercise, beaming as she goes, but then a beep sounds, she mixed up the nightlock and the blueberry. She missed one, she turns around, her face beet red with anger.

That's when I go up. I start through the game, going pretty slow, to make sure I get them all right. I pair up the nightlocks and the blueberries as I turn around, with no beeps made from the station.

"I beat you fair and square." I say quietly.

"Well you went as slow as a slug." Arielle hissed.

That's when I notice two other girls, the girls from 11 and 10 seemed to be watching the competition. The girl from 11 seems to be congratulating me, very vaguely, but the girl from 10 seems to want to snap my neck then and there.

Arielle and the girl from 11 walk away as the girl from 10, Thyme I remember, walks up to me, and whispers…

"Watch your back, 9." She hisses.

I just stare at her as she walks towards her friends. I laugh to myself, watch my back? She could never catch ME.

That's when I go over to the plant growing section, where I plant a little rye seed and add the right amount of water and fertilizer to help it grow, it grows perfectly, with the help of the trainer, who smiles and nods me along, since the boy from District 7 seems to want a go at it.

I move out of the way and stab a dummy with a knife, not my type of forte, but I try. The trainer scowls and says I did subpar at best. I walk away, seeing that Samson has puked on the sword-fighting floor, where Bruno just laughs and walks away. I sigh, knowing that this will come back to me somehow.

I eat a big sandwich next to the girl from 11, who told me her name is Ophelia. I leave the training center thinking of what Thyme wants to do with me.

**Arielle Seine, 15 (written by HestiaAbnegation11)**

**District 5 Female**

I wake up with a start and feel like I'm choking, I must be hallucinating again. I reach over to my bedside table and take out a pill and pop it into my mouth. Ugh, Training Day Number 2, at least I have a couple allies now. Ophelia Norse from District Eleven and Thyme Flanvia from District Ten.

Thyme is a huge fighter and is really good at it and Ophelia is really kind and is a sweetheart. I guess I am just the brains. I arrive in the training center with not a moment to spare.

I am literally the last one in there. Everyone looks at me, and I walk over to the plant station. "Want to have a plants smarts competition?" I ask the girl from 9.

"Sure." The girl says arrogantly.

"Would you like to go first?" I ask?

"No, you." She says, and gestures to the thing.

"Okay." I reply and step up to the plant test. My fingers fly over them matching definition to plant faster than ever. On the very last one I miss one. Nightlock. "Looks like you missed one there." She says sneakily.

"I know." I snap.

She goes at it and moves slow but gets them all right, she won by one point. "I beat you, fair and square."

"Yeah, but you went as slow as a slug." I reply and I see I have gathered a small audience. Ophelia and Thyme stand behind me. Ophelia looks on with curiosity and Thyme looks like she wants to snap the girl's head off.

I leave the station with Ophelia but Thyme stays and whispers something in her ear. "Thyme!" We whisper frantically and she walks over next to us.

"What did you say to that poor girl?" Ophelia asks.

"Watch your back." Thyme says puzzled. I facepalm and Ophelia laughs at it for once.

We decide to try bow and arrows for the first time. Ophelia wants to go try something else so we let her. Thyme slips on some gloves that leave her tips of her fingers open. She stretches the arrow back and it hits an inner circle.

"Try to do better than that on your first try, Five." She says and I laugh.

I pick up a sleek black bow and pull the drawstring back and watch it fly through the air, hitting the target. "But…what?" Thyme says puzzled.

"Well, guess I found a second thing I'm better than you at." I say laughing at the expression on her face.

We shoot side by side and we keep score, I end up beating her 9-7, but it doesn't matter to me. That much. I am not doing that in private training session though, I still am a little shaky at it. We end up not doing much with Ophelia that day, just staying to ourselves, so at about 1:00 in the afternoon everyone is eating lunch while I am having a spear lesson.

The instructor tells me to try to jab the stomach on the dummy but I can barely lift the dang thing so it jabs his toes. "I said the stomach."

"I can't lift it that high!" I exclaim and the tributes laugh. I blush and try again, it barely touches the stomach. "Finally." I sigh.

I leave to go have a sandwich with Ophelia and Thyme, and we meet up with Droplet and Tethys from 3. "Hi." I say and Tethys says "Hello!" excitedly.

She's a happy one. Droplet doesn't reply, just sits eating her food, and we mostly just eat in silence making pleasant conversation. Thyme can't stand it, so she leaves to throw knives. I don't want to do those because I kind of stink at them, so I try swords for one try. It doesn't work out well, I accidently cut myself and he laughs at me. I glare at him really hard and drop the sword and leave the station. Where should I go? I wonder.

Ophelia is at the plant testing with the girl from 9, Sage, and Thyme is still throwing knives. Tethys is at the fire-making station so I decide to go try that with her.

She doesn't seem so mad, but just a little bit happier than the rest of us. "Hi." I say brushing my pants off as I sit down next to her.

"Hey." She replies quietly trying to make her fire.

I start to do it and when it doesn't do anything, she says "push harder and faster, it will work."  
>I twirl it harder and faster like she instructed and it works! I get some sparks and it starts fire like it did the first day. "Thanks, Tethys." I say to her.<p>

"Your welcome." She replies and gets up to leave the Training Center for day 2. I can't bring myself to want her to die.

I guess this will be harder than it looks, I think as I walk out the door and back to the Tribute Center.

**Andre Seymar, 16 (written by LokiThisIsMadness)**

**District 3 Male**

"Andre! Get up! It's time to leave to training."

I ignore my escort, wrapping the pillow around my ears and closing my eyes. Maybe, if I ignore the escort, she'll go away and I'll be able to stay here, without going to training.

Yesterday, it was worthless. It destroyed any hopes that I had of ever coming back home, since I couldn't even make an ally without scaring them away. Not even my district partner, Tethys, wanted me to ally with her. She had an alliance with the boy from Six and the girl from Four and they looked quite happy together.

I am useless. Yesterday, I spent all day walking throught the training center, trying to find a weapon that I was good at. I was able to work with the knives a bit, but I'm not any Career.

It's hurts to know that I'll never see Chessie or Niko again. At least, I know that Chessie will help my mother take care of Niko when the time comes. I can only hope that he'll never have to go throught the same thing as I did.

"Andre! Get out of that room!"

I sigh and get up. My training outfit is already on the chair next to the bed, so I get dressed and walk to the living room. Tethys already left and so did her mentor, so I'm left one with the escort.

I grab an apple and walk towards the elevator. Maybe today I can make some allies? Who knows?

Once the elevator reaches the training center, I try to put a smile on. A sad face won't call for any allies and that's not what I need right now.

I need to be strong, for myself and for my family back home. When I die, because that will surely happen, I want them to see me go down as a fight, not as a coward. That was basically my whole life motto. I always wanted to go down fighting, unlike my father, who was a coward. In my worst nightmares, I turned out to be like him. A coward, leaving Chessie and our children behind because I was too afraid to fight and go to my possible death.

Not anymore. In here, I'll die a hero. Someone that they can actually remember with a smile.

I notice him when I walk to the snare station. He's small, about 14 years old, with a darker skin. I recognize him as the small boy from District Twelve. Immediately, I remember that I had already noticed him during the reapings. With black hair, he looks just like my little brother, Niko. Maybe that's why I want to ally with him so much.

I approach him carefully and sit down next to him. He's working with a rather complicated snare and I smile a little.

"Hey there, buddy." He looks at me, not smiling just yet."I'm Andre. I was wondering if you were looking for an ally?"

He nodds. "Hi. I'm Mort, from District Twelve."

I smile a little. "It's nice to meet you, Mort. I always wanted to visit your district, it seems like one of the coolest ones. What about you? Tell me about your family?"

He smiles happily. "I have three siblings. Two boys and a girl. Dermack, Jay and Layla. They are all amazing and I'm basically the useless one in the family."

I try to comfort him in some way, but I don't know how. "I have a little brother, too. His name is Niko. My father left because our mother cheated on him and then little Niko was born. It wasn't his fault but still, the coward left. All my life, I never wanted to be like him."

"Well, but we are now. There's nothing much that we can do about our old lifes." Mort replies.

"You're right," I agree. "Allies?"

He nodds. "I couldn't really wait to get an ally. Thank you, Andre, for being my only friend in here."

With that, I know how I want to die in there. I'll die protecting this boy, hoping that he can make it home. It's probably a shitty reason, but I hope that Chessie and Niko can understand that I'll die as I always wanted.

As a hero.

**Mort Hylander, 14 (written by LoxFox)**

**District 12 Male**

Hack. Hack. Hack.

Concentrating intensely, I swing the sickle, comfortable with its feel in my hand, getting to know the curved edge of the blade, wickedly sharp- I flick the weapon with the sleight of hand that has served me so well in the games of feederball that our family is in the habit of playing. I wouldn't have thought that the precision and hand-eye coordination that I use in sports games would have given me a boost, an advantage in the games, but there we go. Apparently, the girl from ten hacks bits of meat out of carcasses, and it's given her superb knife-throwing skills, so I guess my little sibling rivalries have aided me tremendously there.

Naturally, I'm nowhere near perfect- I couldn't be more reserved from the terrifying skill levels of the careers that scrap like fidgeting magpies on the other side of the centre, but after a few hours of pestering the nicest-seeming trainer, one of approximately three that would actually listen to me, I'd narrowed down my choice of apparatus. We don't have the cash for a pair of glasses back in Twelve, so I can't see distances to save my life; the targets not twenty metres away look malformed, misshapen, obscured by a cloud of fuzz. Despite this, the trainer, Ari, she appreciates my aptitude for the lesser blades, and set me off on the multitude of the weapons they have here.

Urging me towards the knife station at first, she begrudgingly accepted my lack of any discernible flair for the ranged weapons, and began encouraging me to expand my horizons into the less conventional.

Initially, she was enthusiastic, but after the hours of drill and practices, she had propped herself up in the corner, yawning. Maybe a little bit bored. Just a little.

As I move onto the next dummy, rehearsing my moves, I see her glance at her watch, and approach me. I pause, giving her a minute to close in, and she takes my hand. 'More gutsy, kiddo,' she says. 'You've got-' she guides my hand, flicking it, scything the limb clean off in one fell swoop. 'A half-decent technique-'

Hack. 'But you need-' Hack. 'More-' Hack. 'Oomph!' She finishes with a particularly forceful swipe to the neck, and the head waivers for a second before it teeters, falling off and hitting the mat with a thunk hat rings out with a hollow finality.

See, it's easy to decapitate a model; you pretend it isn't a person, never have to worry about consequences. I saw one of the tributes stab into those dummies that spray blood everywhere over the attacker, and Lorna was almost sick when the spatter of red showered over her face by mistake. But a lifeless thing? This isn't a person, isn't human. You don't need to worry about hurting plastic.

'Kay buddy, I'm goin' off duty now. You've gotta take a break, yea?' C'mon. I'm gonna get myself summat to eat- the canteen here has a top-notch churros stand. You wanna come?'

Well, I've never heard of churros, but it makes a nice change from stabbing. I accept her offer. What the hell.

Ari swipes her pass, then signs me out with the girl on the desk, blowing her a kiss as she leaves. 'Jus' takin' this one out for churros, don't worry, I'm not replacing you.' I turn to Ari, curious. 'What?' She shrugs. 'So we're datin'. Deal with it.'

I'm slightly taken aback- it's not illegal in Twelve, not like some other districts, but it's frowned upon, and so pretty uncommon. Maybe it's more fashionable here. I don't know. I don't know much anymore. The games have thrown my perspective out of a window, and everything I thought I could be sure of has been upended, uprooted, turned inside out.

I do know, however, that whatever a churros is, it's fantastic.

Iced, practically douszed in a coat of sweetness; clunky granules of sugar blanket a deep-fried baton of dough, and it's absolutely glorious. Within five short minutes, I've scoffed down seven of the things.

'Woah, slow down kiddo. Yer gonna maker yerself sick if ya carry on like that.' Ari laughs, swigging down a glass of something alcoholic. 'Aw crap. I gotta go, like, now. Finish yer soda, an' then I'll get ya back to the centre.'

She leads me back, a little more substance on my scrawny bones; I thank her for everything, and she ruffles my hair before sending me back to the stations. I look for Andre, a familiar face and a kind heart in a sea of paranoia. I send him a distracted smile, then settle down next to him. 'So, we planning on running?' I ask, and we settle back into tactics and tattletales, genially ignoring the probability of our impeding deaths. It crosses my mind, and I'm bleak for a moment, trying to find hope in this desolate world.

It's then that I promise to get him churros.

**Koi Kloet, 15 (written by Glossy-12)**

**District 4 Male**

I've been throwing spears at the targets all day now. I just needed time to think. Droplet's little stunt may have made her look brave, but she's not going to do well in the arena. After all, snitches get stitches. I don't know if it would be fair to consider her a snitch, but she's about as close as you get in the Hunger Games.

My spear throwing isn't perfect, but it's pretty good. Darian is always telling me that I need to get better at it, but I'm sure I'll be fine.

I heave the spear and watch it arc into the dummy. It would kill a tribute, but I doubt any of the tributes are going to stand still for me while I attempt to kill them. Not that I would mine, it would make winning a whole lot easier.

Everyone else has left the training center now, so it is just me. I keep throwing spears at the targets. Tomorrow, we have out private training sessions and I have to get a good score. I'd be happy with an eight, but a nine wouldn't hurt.

Darian got a nine in his games, but he was three years younger than he was when he was in his Games. A couple years back, only two tributes got nines and everyone else got scores lower than that.

I just have to stay confident. That's what Darian told me was the key to winning his Games. If you believe that you will win, you will. The Capitol likes the confidence, so you get more sponsors, and that will help you win. Sure, knowing how to kill helps, but without sponsors you can't win.

Darian got tons of sponsors in his Games. He won by being so likable. If I can get sponsors, I might stand a chance.


	21. Training Day 3: On Their List

**A/N (Glossy): **I need some private training sessions and score announcements so send those in if you haven't already.

**Niyko Kiyan, 16 (written by Emimawi)**

**District 5 Male**

I shiver slightly, wrapping my navy cardigan closer to my skin as I enter the training center. It seems the air conditioning is always on full blast every time I arrive, like a permanent freezer- or perhaps a never-ending winter. Either way, I've learnt to come prepared- learnt it the hard way the first time I arrived, nearly being frozen to a popsicle. Nonetheless, the fabric is slightly too thin for my liking, and goosebumps prickle my skin as I walk closer to the center of the cavernous room.

Immediately, I'm unsure of where to go. I've failed miserably at climbing and fire starting, but I've excelled at rope tying- so that's first, I guess. There's not much left I can do, the talented tributes- the ones from One, Two and Four have dominated the weaponry area, and I've been avoiding it as to avoid their domineering presence.

There's got to be something I'm good at though, I don't want to be abandoned with just a score like a two. That'd be not only humiliating, but would ruin any slight chance I had to begin with. Perhaps the private training could be thought of as an exam.

Contrary to popular opinion, I quite liked exams.

Perhaps 'liked' was a bit of a stretch. I definitely don't dislike them, and the word 'tolerated' makes it seem as though they were a bore. 'Accepted' gave the same kind of vibe, and to say I found them 'challenging' was a total like. I'd have to go with satisfying.

Satisfying...they were a way of putting the knowledge I had gained from previous years of learning to the test. Of course, generally my fear of failure was something I brushed off as irrational, but here the fear is very plausible. It lingered over me, like a presence that just wouldn't go away. Perhaps that was why so many people disliked them. I couldn't blame them.

But I usually ace tests. And what do I do first? Revise.

With that thought in mind, my head is held slightly higher than usual as I make my way to the speed section. Only a few tributes have actually spent their time here, though it could be pivotal for when the games start, if we want to rush to the cornucopia as fast as we can. I give a curt nod to the lady in charge, and begin to run.

As I do, my mind begins to wander. What kind of arena am I to be tossed into? I hope it's forest of sorts, since I practically grew up in one.

It's odd, actually, that I did- District 5 is typically very urbanized, but there are small patches of greenery at the outskirts. I live near one, and am constantly going there to escape the pressure of everyday life.

It's ironic, really. Once I'm reaped for the games, and I'm more alone than I've ever been. Nobody has talked to me, nor given any interest in an alliance. Obviously, I'm not valuable enough.

That's legit. I'll be dead soon, so I suppose there will only be a few grieving people.

Deep in thought, I hardly realize my shoelace has been untied until I'm dangerously near to the ground. I topple over with a loud thud, and a loud crack coming from my ankle.

Oh shit. I've broken it, haven't I? I can hardly register the pain, as I'm too busy looking at the other tributes gaping at me.

Oh, don't pretend you're sorry for me. You're just relieved that there's one more kid out of the way, one less person standing between you and home and a good night's sleep. I'm not blaming you. If it were me, I'd feel the same way.

It's hard to ignore the guffaws coming from the Career side. Oh look, how funny- this idiot's gone and broken his angle. What a loser. Hardy-har. Except this has just secured my death sentence.

Oh well.

The trainer is next to me in a second, with a pack of ice.

"Come on, let's get you bandaged up." she says, her voice sickly sweet. She doesn't fool me.

Half an hour later and I'm at the plant identification, my ankle covered in a thick bandage. I can walk, hardly- and now my foot is resting gingerly on the ground as my hands fly over the keys. This is something I'm good at, so at least I've have something to show the Gamemakers later today. I'll be lucky to score a two, and all hope of sponsors is gone from my mind. Nobody in the right mind would sponsor me after seeing me in the interviews with a huge cast on my foot; if the chariot rides hasn't done that already for them.

Whatever. Let me die. It was inevitable to begin with.

**Paulo Bellamy, 17 (written by Glossy-12)**

**District 7 Male**

There is no way that that kid will win the Games now. If he can't run, he's screwed. I won't have to worry about that though. I've been running a decent amount in the training center. My axe work isn't all that great compared to a lot of these tributes with their respective weapons, but it's definitely not the worst of the bunch.

I don't have any allies, but that's not bugging me that much. After all, when I'm running around the arena so quickly, they wouldn't be able to keep up. I'll definitely show the gamemakers my running abilities in my private training session. Not too many people have done well in the Games by running alone, but I do have my axe skills.

I have learned how to throw axes better and swing them for maximum effect. When I was working in the lumberyards, I just swung over and over without worrying about form and technique. I know the basics of swinging an axe, not that it is that complicated, but I have learned more than I would have ever guessed in these last couple days.

Jezebel and I haven't really gotten along too well so far. She attempted to kick me out of my room on the train, but that wasn't going to fly so she ended up on the couch. How horrible could it have been though? I know some kids in District 7 that sleep on wooden beds, so the comfortable Capitol couch should have been quite comfortable.

The tributes from 4 don't seem to get along either. They had quite the verbal sparring match on Day 1, when the girl called the boy out for being stupid and common, quite ironic considering he lives in the Victors Village, and he called her out for volunteering to kill kids. Not that he didn't, but at least he admitted to doing it. But then again, she could have reasons, but why would he need to win when he already has a brother that has won and brought tons of money to their family? I don't think I'll ever understand the career districts.

I look over to see what the careers are doing, and Jezebel approaches them. She shoves them out of the way and starts weighing the swords at the station they were at. She settles on a curved blade and mangles a dummy with it. She gives them a long hard stare and walks off.

I look at them and I can see the careers discussing her little show. The tributes from 2 seem to be the leaders of the conversation, while the tributes from 1 stand close to each other and the boy from 4 is leaned up against a swords rack. I continue to watch them for a while, but then the boy from 4 slips and falls to the ground. It doesn't look like he's hurt bad, but he'll be a little bruised up for the interviews. A lot of the tributes are snickering, so I figure that laughing a little won't set me apart from anyone. I laugh and the boy pushes himself up glaring at all of the tributes looking at him.

"What are you all looking at?! Go back to your pathetic little stations!" This draws more laughs from the crowd especially from his partner.

**Jezebel Kalhsi, 17 (written by LoxFox)**

**District 7 Female**

I feel like beating the shit out of something.

Okay, so that's not exactly a rare occurrence, but it's not like I have much choice in the matter. Today has just been one colossal fuck-up after the other, trailing behind in quick succession, as if the world is determined to make my life as truly unbearable as possible in the shortest space of time.

I've actually picked the worst comprehendible time for a hormonal outburst; one of those where I flip from wanting everyone to die to willing myself towards death. It's a maliciously compulsory by-product of being a teenage girl, and I hate every stinking minute of it. So I overslept, skipped breakfast, have a headache that pounds around in the inside of my head like some bitchy clamp is crushing my skull, and the careers have stolen my spot at the swords station.

Oh, and to top it all off? Cramps.

I fucking hate the menstrual cycle. Don't tell me it's natural, or that I have to learn to deal with it. Don't tell me that it'll settle down, or that a heated brick in my bed will cure it all. And don't you even dare to think about telling me that I'm being irrational. My body is literally killing itself from the inside out, and in mere days I'm going to have to face going into a death match while-

Well, I'll spare you the gory details. Sorry blokes, no gruesome recollections of what it's like to have to go into the arena at that time of the month. Trust me, it will be hell.

Day three is not going well. At all. Obviously, I'm itching to get up and swipe a few targets, mangling the dummies with the blades. I've decided to leave it until the last day, finishing up the training with a triumphant showstopper that will spotlight my skills as a fearsome opponent to that bunch of useless lumps that call themselves the careers. Unfortunately, nature intervened.

The careers just disappoint me. I know where the couple from One will end up. The sissy boy, the one that won't shed blood, I'll tie him down and force him to maim his girlfriend; slowly, painfully, intimately. As he keens over her death, I'll revel in his lamentation. Pathetic.

The pair from Two are nasty pieces of work: the girl's a sneaky, crafty bastard that'll backstab anyone in her path but she's blinded by her own supposed invincibility; the boy's just a brutish gorilla, all muscle but with no brains, technique or skill, relying on his Neanderthal demeanour and thoughtlessness to see him through. Those two, I'll pit them off against each other, and get the winner- my money's on the girl- to crush the skull of the boy from One, ending his abject misery. Poor baby.

Far as I know, the girl from Four's not complying, refusing to play by the rules. She's teaming up with a girl from an outer district, so I don't see her lasting too long. I'll let the Kloet boy take her out, and he'll be so enthralled in his own unseeing pet peeve that he'll never see my sword coming until I slice his throat open. Or maybe I'll run him through the back; the latter concept I enjoy far more, and I can see my assassin's eyes full of triumph as my blade rips through his ribcage, dripping with the shattered bits of heartstring and bone and his futile dreams of victory.

As for the bitch from Two, I'll fight her, one on one. Then we'll see who really deserves the title of victor. She's adroit, cunning, ruthless- but I am far more so. Doesn't stand a chance. Honestly, I know these games are mine to seize with the sly jaws of a fox, the whetted blade of a sword, the still-warm spray of blood that I'll smear over my flawless face like warpaint. Sacred in the carnage, I'll be the princess of destruction, the harbinger of disorder, the goddess of death.

Stand in my way, and I will annihilate you. Not even a shadow shall remain.

So sod these cramps, sod my delusions of grandeur, and sodding sod waiting around for fate to drop something from the sky and into my lap. I am a goddess; I carve out my own destiny, bend the rules to suit myself.

Shoving the careers out of the way, I test out the swords on offer, balancing each one, give them a few sweeps to accustom myself to them. The first is too light, the second too long, the third too unyielding. But the fourth? This is my blade.

Curved a little, it gleans wickedly, threatening to shear flesh from bone. It has the strength of a titan, the balance and poise of a dancer, the cruelty of a vengeful spirit. After accepting that it fits, as if it were tailor made for me, I try out a few drills, before ravaging the poor dummy in front of me. Relentlessly, I continue my furious attack until the mannequins'' body bits are just ruined blocks of uneven plastic scattered around me.

I send the careers a long, hard stare, before respectfully placing the sword back onto the rack.

It's only after my terrifying outburst that I realise that they're discussing me. With disgust at myself- though it may just be the cramps, returning with renewed spitefulness- it hits me like a ton of bricks.

I've made it onto their kill list.

**Jeremiah Gardner, 13 (written by Elim9)**

**District 8 Male**

"There's one more thing you need to know."

Adalyn and I both glance up at Aldrich, confused. One? We've spent most of the last three days with him, and I know we've barely scratched the surface. I can bandage wounds, make a passable sling, and splint pretty much any body part. But the more we learn, the more I realize how little we really know, how horribly unprepared we are to face an arena where there's danger around every corner. How can there be only one more thing?

"One more?" Adalyn asks, echoing my thoughts. "What's that?"

Aldrich chuckles a little. "Of course, there's more than one more thing I could teach you. But our time is almost up. So there's one more thing … something I've been avoiding. Probably the hardest thing we've learned so far, for either of you."

"What is it?" Adalyn asks, her curiosity shining through her eyes. She's taken quite a liking to Aldrich and our lessons together, and, if I'm being honest, so have I. Maybe he's even grown fond of us, though I can't be sure. After so many tributes, year after year, what are we to him? Two more young teenagers just passing through training.

Two young friends who might be dead soon.

Aldrich leans forward, studying the two of us. "Everything I've taught you … You both want to save lives. You want to save each other. But there may come a point when you can't. When the other's injuries are too great. When there is truly no hope left. You need to learn where that point is – how to decide when to save a life … and when to take one."

My stomach churns, and I swallow hard. After everything he's taught us, he wants us to think about killing each other? Killing someone else out of mercy because their injuries are too great? I've seen tributes do it, of course, but I'm not sure…

"I'm not sure I could," Adalyn admits. "I think I'd still try to save them … no matter what."

Aldrich nods sadly. "I thought the same thing, many years ago. I was like you. Young. Innocent. I wanted nothing more than to save lives." He shakes his head. "For a long time, I got my wish. I was a doctor, one of the best in the Capitol. I never lost a patient. I thought I was invincible."

"What happened?" Adalyn asks. Because the man in front of us looks far from invincible. He looks sad. And very, very tired.

Aldrich sighs wearily. "War broke out. Long and terrible. The first field hospital I served at … the conditions were wretched. Everything was filthy. The tools we used were primitive. It's a wonder that _anyone_ survived."

"My first day there, a wave of patients came streaming in. There was one in particular – a boy, no older than you, with a wound in his chest that would almost certainly kill him. The nurses told me to leave him, to tend to those who could be saved, but I was determined. I was certain I could save him."

"Did you?" Adalyn asks.

Aldrich shakes his head. "No. He died, anyway, despite my efforts. And, what's worse … In the time it took me to try, three more patients died. Three more patients I might have been able to save, had I not been focused on helping someone who was beyond hope."

He looks up, his old, tired eyes fixed on us. "You may face the same choice, in the arena. You may have to choose between helping someone who is beyond saving … or saving yourself. It's not an easy choice, but nothing in the arena is. There are no easy choices, no simple answers. Nothing is set. You'll have to decide, eventually, how far you're willing to go, and whether or not you can live with yourselves afterwards."

I look away. Away from both him and Adalyn. I don't want to kill. I've never wanted to kill. I don't want to be here.

But I _am_ here.

And if I want to _leave_ here alive, I'm going to have to kill.

Aldrich places a hand on each of our shoulders. "It's not something you have to decide now. In fact, it's not something you _can_ decide now. Few of us know beforehand how we'll react to a truly impossible situation. I just thought I should warn you – It _will _happen. And it will happen very soon."

A bell sounds, signaling the end of training for the day. Adalyn and I rise slowly, reluctantly, not wanting to leave. Because the end of training means the beginning of something far worse.

Unbidden, Adalyn throws her arms around Aldrich, who wraps her in a hug. After only a moment of hesitation, I join them. A few of the other tributes are watching, but I don't care. For this one moment, I don't care what they think of me. Of us.

"Thank you," I whisper to Aldrich. "Thank you for everything."


	22. Private Training Sessions: Just Right

**A/N (Glossy): **Unfortunately, we only have two short POVS for this chapter, but here they are.

**Droplet Shimmer, 18 (written by mykindleisawesome)**

**District 4 Female**

My leg bounces up and down nervously, I need to be good, but not too good, don't want to be an even bigger target for the Careers. Oh, target practice would be a good thing to show off. Or go up against some of the trainers. Can't be too violent. Aim for a 9. Any better and I'd be seriously screwed.

It's my turn now. Trying to remain as normal as possible, I get up, smile, and skip into the room, the door automatically closing behind me. "Hi!" I yell, running into the middle of the room. "I'm Droplet Shimmer, the female from Four!"

And immediately I'm off again, my heart pounding. I sit down at the knot-tying station, making as many difficult snares I can remember, but trying not to consume much time doing so. Still need to make a good impression.

I finish quickly, testing a couple snares out to buy time. They all work perfectly, thank goodness. Well, being from District Four, it would've been hard to screw that up.

Then I head over to get my weapons, a whip and a trident. Tridents and spears are predictable. But whips? Not as much. Whips are sometimes used by the crazy nuts that volunteer, or are reaped. They torture their tributes before killing them, and sometimes the Capital loves it, and sometimes it's really, really gruesome. Ew.

I grab the whip, quickly testing for size, and trading it out. It was too long, which is such a shame, it had such a pretty design on the handle... No, Droplet! No getting off topic here! Can't do that!

Quickly, I loop it around my torso in such a way that I can get it off in a heartbeat, but it'll stay out of my way for now. Then, knowing I'm running out of time, I sprint over to the tridents and, again, test for size and, this time, weight.

I grab the one I used on the last training session, it's a really pretty blue and has the most gorgeous designs- No! Off topic again!

I call for trainers, and begin to spar with them, trying not to harm them. I don't want to, they were forced to do this! Every time one hits the ground and my trident hits its neck, I remove it, if this was a real battle they would be dead.

Finally, I have a reason to bring out my whip. Well, not really, I just want to show off that I can actually use it. I try not to aim anywhere above the ankles, and only use it to trip them. Once they hit the ground, my weapon is on their neck and they're done.

This is one of the easiest battles I've ever been in. I could do so much better.

So I do. I try to pick it up a bit, wrapping the whip around arms, legs, all sorts of different body parts, and bringing them down roughly.

When my time is up, I put my weapons back, and bow. Short and stiff. Then I smile, wave, and skip out. I think I did well! Nope, I don't think I'm seriously screwed!

**Willem Wexler, 18 (written by Glossy-12)**

**District 10 Male**

The girl from 9 has just entered the room for her session now. I look around and see that there are only six of us left. Thyme looks pretty confident, but both from 11 and 12 look dreadfully nervous. As they should be, I'd be surprised if any of them made it past the first half of the tributes. Not that I shouldn't be nervous. I may be big and strong, but when it comes down to it, I don't have the technical skills that a lot of the tributes have.

"Willem Wexler." A voice sounds over the room. I stand up, wiping the sweat on my hands off on my pants and enter the room.

I puff my chest out and walk into the room. There are weapons littered around and gear strewn around the room. I walk over to the rope section and grab a long coil. I tie a knot and then I have my lasso.

I walk over to the dummies. I start to swing my lasso over my head and I let it go just like I have a thousand times. It soars and catches a dummy and I pull him to me. Once the dummy reaches me, I throw it down and repeat the process for three more dummies.

After I finish that, I head over to the weight lifting section of the Training Center. I motion for a trainer to spot me and I get a barbell that weighs two hundred lbs. It's a pretty impressive weight, so it should leave an impression on the gamemakers. The only tribute that could even come close to benching this besides me is the brute, Marshall from District 2.

I do a set of ten reps. The first three were pretty easy, but after that, the reps were much more difficult. I finish.

I stand up from the bench, out of breath. I do a little bow for the gamemakers before turning around and entering the elevator that will take me back to my floor. I hope I got a good score.


	23. Score Announcements: Chances

**A/N (Glossy): **I'm trying to get some WW chapters up tonight. Also some CYE spots will be opening up soon so check them out tomorrow if you want them.

**Marshall Negill, 18 (written by TheOnlyPotato)**

**District 2 Male**

I flick at Cassius' ear boredly, counting under my breath how many times I can cause him pain until his ear turns a bright red and he's wincing and shying away from me. I got to like... 35 the last time. Then he started crying and my mentor made me leave him alone. Pussy.

"You're a sadistic bastard, you know that?" Ame notes drily. I glare at her, my torture on my escort stopping enough for him to make a rushed escape. I love this new kid, I really will miss tormenting him when I'm in the arena.

I turn my attention to Ame, narrowing my eyes. "You got a problem? I'm not afraid to make you beg, bitch."

"You couldn't even you tried," she snorts. "I don't beg for beggars, orphan."

"You wait and see, princess. When I'm in the arena, I'll break you until there is nothing left but obedience."

"Fuck you."

"Oh you will."

"You want to fight Marshall?"

"Gladly, skank."

"Both of you, enough!" Our mentor roars. "Marshall get your head out of your ass for ten seconds, please. God, you are such a pain." Beside me, I know Ame has that smug little smirk she gets when she wins. I want to punch it off that ugly face of hers, but I settle for a tip of her chair. Ame almost falls over, but her reflexes save her. I curse under my breath at the same time she does and we glare at each other.

"It's going to take a lot more than that to get me, darlin'. Getting soft, are we?" I roll my eyes.

"Hey, Ame I got something for you..." I fake searching my pockets before sighing. "Oh, sorry. I guess nothing's there. Sounds a lot like your life, doesn't it?"

"Not really. 'Nothing' would fit an orphans description better," she shrugs, unfazed. I'm about to rip her throat out with my hands when our mentor - I've got to get better at names - calls us.

"Scores are coming on. Have a seat without setting each other on fire, yes?" He asks, patting a spot next to him.

"Whatever you say, tightwad." He glares at me and I chuckle before plopping next to Cassius to continue my torture. This time it's a series of pinches, which he cries out in pain at every ten or so seconds. God, he's such a softie.

I mildly pay attention the scores. I know that the hippie grabs a 6 and his partner pulls a decent 9. I get a 10 - no surprise there, I did an excellent job showing them who's boss - and Ame gets a 9. Good. None of the Careers got a better score than me. The little bitches. We all know who'll be leading me to victory. Not to mention by law, that makes me their leader. Fuck. Yes.

The others aren't memorable and don't deserve my commentary. They're all just small obstacles in the way of my victory anyway.

"Marshall! A 10! That's fantastic!" Cassius gushes when the anthem blasts. I smile smugly.

"I know."

"You don't deserve a ten," Ame points out. "You didn't do anything spectacular."

"I did enough to show them that I will not pause to be a murderer. I will not fall back when it comes time to make you my bitch."

"Shove it, Marshall," she fires back, lazily cleaning dirt from her fingernails with a butter knife.

"Enough!" Our mentor roars in annoyance. "Go to bed. Both of you."

"Don't tell me what to do!" I snap at him.

"I'll get the peacekeepers on you, Marshall. Go." I stare at him before turning in a huff on my heel. Ame passes me however, and she has that smug smile like she could kill.

"It'll be you whose my bitch, Marshall." And with that her ass is sashaying to her room. Scowling, I follow.

Little Miss Cumbucket will rue the day that she dare cross me.

**Tethys Rashid, 16 (written by HestiaAbnegation11)**

**District 3 Female**

Sitting in the district Three floor, eating pancakes, as usual I wait for the scores to be announced. I smile quickly at my district partner, before my eyes fall on my pancakes! I squeal seeing them makes my mouth water. It's chocolate with chocolate! The best kind! We could never afford anything like that back in Three.

Three is really poor and everything, like every other district, we are poorer than 7, but not 8. I can't wait for the training scores to start! I don't really care what I get, I think that it will be amazing either way! My district partner doesn't seem to worry too much on the outside, but maybe on the inside he is worrying some.

I get all excited when the announcer pops up!

The boy from 1 shows up and he gets a 6. Hmm, a low score for a career.

"Valeria." Felix Flickerman says and a girl from 1 shows up a 9 flashes across her face and I think, there is a high score for a career.

"Marshall." The boy from 2 shows up and he gets a 10. A 10! Way better than the boy from 1. He will probably lead the Careers.

"Amelia." Felix Flickerman announces and the girl from 2 is there. A 9 flashes across her face, and I am happy for the girl, she probably won't get killed right away.

"Andre." I see my district partner across the room looking intently at the screen. "Three." A 3 flashes across his grin and I smile at him, but he doesn't look happy. I wonder why.

"Tethys." Felix says and I basically feel my excitement getting bigger and bigger until he says "Two." I feel happy, as I watch the shining letter go off the stage.

"Koi." And a boy from 4 appears on the screen. I watch as a colorful 8 appears and disappears quickly. Good, an 8, another good score.

"Droplet." I see my ally's smiling face on the screen and it shows an 8! An 8! Great for her! I smile hugely as I see my ally go away from the screen. I wish it would come back.

"Niyko." The boy from 5 appears, smiling-ish. A 2 flashes across and I can imagine his disappointment right now. Probably his district partner feels awful.

"Arielle." Felix continues and the girl from 5 appears. "Three." A 3 flashes across her sly grin and I think, what? She was the smart girl, right? I thought she may have done better. I have an idea, but I am not sure until Sage's score comes up from 9.

"Bruno." Six. A solid score for an outlying district, great! I smile as I see his picture fade.

My heart melts as I see the girl from 6 appear on the screen. "Two." Felix says solemnly and I can imagine her right now talking to her district partner than ceasing to talk again until her score comes up.

"Paulo." The boy from 7 appeared and he got a 5. Still, an okay score.

"Jezebel." Felix announces and the girl from 7 flashes onto the screen. "seven." A great score for an out-lying district.

Jeremiah and Adalyn of eight both snag a 3, same as Andre. "Samson."

The boy from 9 appears, he looks like a druggie! I giggle a little bit, he's going to die early. "One." Felix announces. I would have a hard time not laughing if I were Felix right now.

I laugh and I see Andre and he's trying to suppress laughter. "Sage." And the wily girl from 9 appears. "Four."

A good score still for an out-lying district. "Willem." The district ten male appears on the screen and a five flashes across his face. Good. An honest score.

"Thyme." I see the dark red-headed girl on the screen. "Seven."

That's a really good score! Oh my goodness, how did she get that, she's from a really out-lying district.

"Cane." The boy from 11 shows up and I think I see a 4 go across the screen. He's incredibly tall, but really skinny.

"Ophelia." I see the girl from 11 show up and a 5 flashes across the screen. I try not to have any feelings about it, thinking about Sage's score and Arielle's.

"Mort." The boy from 12 is up now and I see a 4 go across, a good score for 12.

"Lorna." A 3. That proves what I was thinking. There won't be many plants. Cold weather, or warm weather?

"That wraps up our training scores for the 23rd Hunger Games!" Felix says cheerfully before the Capitol seal shows up and he is off.

"Great job tributes." Everyone in the room choruses. But I don't think Andre liked his score, and I didn't appreciate mine.

**Bruno Belmonte, 18 (written by LokiThisIsMadness)**

**District 6 Male**

"From District One: Garrett Ryker with a score of - six."

Next to me, Violet giggles, but this one was expected. I had been watching him, this boy from District One, since training started. In fact, I had been watching all of them. The boy, Garrett, was probably the weakest of the Careers while the other four were the real threat in the arena.

"Valeria Latrelle with a score of - nine."

Albus mumbles something to himself, and as I watch the girl on the screen, I shift on my seat. Unlike her district partner, we need to watch out for her. With her talent for archery, we wouldn't even see her coming. I make a mental note to watch out for her on the bloodbath.

"From District Two: Marshall Negill with a score of - ten."

And there's the Career score that we were waiting for. Albus just nodds his head and even Violet stays quiet. I should make sure that Violet is no where near him on the arena.

I turn to her. "Hey Violet, you stay away from him in the arena, okay?" It doesn't hurt to warn her, since we'll be doing the same. He's the true threat this year, and the one all of us want to stay away from.

She nodds, smiling happily. "Okay!"

"Amelia Vale with a score of - nine."

So far, three of them have got predicted scores. It will surely help them with the sponsors, that will help them in the arena, but does it really matter, though? I suppose it makes them look better. But in the end, there's only one winner.

"From District Three: Andre Seymar with a score of - three."

I remember that he is allying with the little kid from Twelve but in the end, that's basically all that I remember about this boy. Oh, I think he's Tethys' district partner, as well.

I try to pay a bit more of attention, now that they are about to announce the score of one of my allies.

"Tethys Rashid with a score of - two."

Well, that's bad. It just ruined half the chances that we had of getting some sponsors, but maybe Droplet and I still have a chance to get a good score. Droplet was raised as Career, after all. I would suprised if she got less than an eight.

"From District Four: Koi Kloet with a score of - eight."

He's a Career too, but I don't seeing him around that much. I guess the others stood out more than him.

"Droplet Shimmer with a score of - eight."

I laugh a little. Maybe we will be getting sponsors, after all. The Capitol will probably love Droplet and that can make up for whatever me and Tethys do in the interviews. I'll try my best, though. Now I just need to get a good score.

I did better than a two.

"From District Five: Niyko Kiyan with a score of - two."

Now that the Careers are gone, it's time to start with the low scores. Well, I can't see District Five making it out of the bloodbath, to be honest.

"Arielle Seine with a score of - three."

Yep, now I can't really see any of them making it out the bloodbath. After a few seconds, the girl's picture disappears and they start to announce our District.

This is. The difference between life and death.

"From District Six: Bruno Belmonte with a score of - six."

A six! I did it! A six! Albus pats me in the back. "Good job, Bruno. We can definitely work with a six. I knew you had it in you."

Violet jumps into my arms, not even giving me the time to breath. "Congrats, big brother!"

I smile. "Let's see yours now, Vi."

"Violet Lamiale with a score of - two."

Yep, that just got worse. I always knew that she doesn't have a chance in the arena when the time comes, but there's a part of me that always wanted her to make it home if I didn't. Violet is too innocent to even be in the Hunger Games in the first place and most of all, she's my friend.

I don't pay much attention to the next scores, since no one stands out that much. The Careers were the real threats and nothing will ever change that.


	24. Interviews: Make It Count

**A/N (Glossy): **Here are the interviews!

**Garrett Ryker, 18 (written by LoxFox)**

**District 1 Male**

With every beat of my pulse, I crumple the sheet of paper in my hand, attuning the compacting of the paper to the thundering rhythm of my heart.  
>Ba-dum. Scrunch. Ba-dum. Scrunch.<p>

In the last half an hour, I have patiently memorised every word on that page, ensuring that I can recite every last detail. It is risky, but I am a half-decent public speaker; my father is a politician by trade, so I know, in theory, how to enthral an audience. I just hope that they'll share in my sentiment- there is a vast difference between theoretical routines and practical application.

Nobody knows about this. Val I have kept in the dark, my mentors are clueless; the only person who may suspect something is up would be the avox I asked to fetch me a thesaurus, and even then I swore her to secrecy. I do not want the general populace learning of my intentions.

Once Val has descended, I hear my name being broadcast to my audience, and as I stroll onstage, I begin the interview that I hope will change the games for good.

The interview meanders along, dull and tedious, as many before have done. Easygoing, we discuss trivial matters, chattering like old friends. Everything is perfectly going to plan, smoothly rolling along- that is, until I take up the offer to send a message to my audience. I waste no time in beginning a speech that I can only hope will bring understanding to an ignorant people.

'Residents of the Capitol,' I start, addressing them broadly and respectfully. 'When I look at you, I see creative, brilliant minds, filled with dynamism and vibrancy. Proud and strong, you are titanic in your achievements, rescuing a stricken Panem from the edges of cataclysm. You have built a shining city from the ashes of despair and desolation, and for that, I am sure, the nation of Panem shall express our insurmountable gratitude.' That receives a few whoops and cheers, and I let them, before turning my speech onto a serious matter.

'But now I am going to appeal to your better nature, your sense of humanity; you have been unjustly misguided into believing that two wrongs make a right, that the onus of atoning for the past sins of our parents and grandparents should be burdened upon the children of today.

'So now I turn from you, to the tributes behind me. Now I am faced with a child not yet old enough to sign herself out of school, a deeply troubled young man who requires the loving counsel of reform, the underfed still undefeated and grasping at the delicate straws of hope.' I swallow, and throw a glance at Valeria; my partner in crime, my rock, my companion. No, not mine. Never mine. 'I see a mother torn away from her child. And that should set something off that would alert any self-respecting parent to the fact that this sick amalgamation of slaughter and celebrities is morally despicable.'

I continue, wary of the peacekeepers at the side who tense, restless, just out of sight. Yet the cameras still roll- do they mock me? Do they think that this is a plea for sponsors? No, this is about injustice and hatred, and I intend to stop it before it becomes all-encompassing. Yet the crowd does not appreciate any of my efforts to bring enlightenment to them; there are hisses and boos in the suddenly turned-hostile air, and many of the faces I have turned to see have soured into expressions of abject disgust.

I continue, my voice a rising crescendo of reason and morality, seemingly the sole speaker of truth in a place obsessed with drenching themselves in innocent blood. I near the end of my tirade, trying to aid them with the gift of wisdom. 'I beseech you, to heed the pious word of your conscience, to rid yourselves of this animalistic brutality, to find it within yourselves to be the better person, and-'

'But Garrett,' my interrogator interrupts. 'You volunteered, did you not? You entire life, you've been versed in the noble arts of war, so that you can get into that arena and conquer?'

Dejected, I shake my head, crushing defeat falling upon me. 'No, Mr. Flickerman. I volunteered because I thought that I could make a change up on this stage tonight.' I close my eyes. 'So that the madness would cease. I am sorry that I was wasting my breath.' I stand up, avoiding the burning, spearhead glares of the angry crowd, demanding my punishment and taking back offers of any hope for sponsorship. The buzzer hasn't even rung yet, and I've turned them against me. Garrett, you fool. You've lost yourself everything.

'Thank you for your time,' I finish, and walk offstage with my head held high in defeat, towards the peacekeepers and my oncoming retribution.

**Amelia 'Ame' Vale, 17 (written by Emimawi)**

**District 2 Female**

My favourite part, however, is the golden wreath my stylist has placed on top of my curled locks. It's just a style thing, but it sends a message. I'm going to win. Don't you forget it.

I hear the screams of the crowd before I see them, the neon floodlights of the stage momentarily blinding me as the curtains pull open. And there's the audience. My adoring, adoring audience. The audience that'll hang onto my every single word.

Oh, it feels good to be loved.

Felix starts with a few jokes, but I'm barely listening- too busy keeping the confident smirk on my face up. Come on Ame, it's not long! The fun will start soon.

Before I know it, Valeria is up- her dress suiting her blonde locks. She's pretty talented, so I've got my guard up around her- at least for now. Once these games start she'll be no trouble. She's got no resolve to kill, just another pretty blonde.

I tune out for a bit, she's the first of many boring interviews to come. It's only at about halfway I start to pay attention- gathering information on my competition can prove valuable. But the second I pay attention- she says something quite shocking.

She has a kid? Why the fuck would she volunteer, then? I almost feel bad for her, but then a sly smile creeps up my face. Sure, that means she'll be determined- but I can use this as an advantage. I just need to hit her where it hurts, in all the sore spots.

Just another obstacle out of the way.

Garrett's a huge idiot in his interview. Killing is wrong? The Games are bad? Yeah, well with such a low training score- this is just digging your own grave. This just makes it easier and easier.

I'm feeling almost giddy when I walk up, the odds are definitely in my favour. The crowd is still a bit unnerved from Garrett's speech- yet their cheers are deafening. I wait a few seconds for them to stop. I'm obviously a favourite.

"Amelia..." Felix begins, and I mentally flinch. Stupid name. "You look stunning. How are you?"

I laugh. "Thank you. I'm fantastic, and feeling better every second!" To be honest, I can't care less about what he thinks- but he's helping me, so I comply.

"Wonderful! And what about tomorrow? Surely, with that score- you're ready?"

"Felix, I was born ready! These games are mine and mine alone, and nobody can take them from me." The crowd loves that, and I suppress a smile. That comment was a direct jab at Marshall- I know he won't take it well.

"Now, what about your name? I'm afraid we're slightly confused. Should we be calling you Amelia?" Thank god he's asked this question!

"Oh, please don't! It's Ame... Ah-May. Amelia is way too feminine! I can't go round kicking butt with a name like that!"

I'm acting over confident, and I know it. It's part of the plan, act as if I'm all on the surface and I have no plans underneath. When the truth is, I've got a backup plan for my backup plan!

Felix laugh, and a few audience members join him. A couple more banters later, and he asks me a question that knocks me off guard.

"For a Career, you're a bit young. What made you volunteer at that age?"

I pause. Why didn't I wait? I guess that... maybe I needed to. Because it's the only thing I'm good at. That I don't want to miss out and spend a boring life as a peacekeeper. That I would rather die than live a monotonous life like the one I'm doomed to lead if I don't win.

No, I can't tell him that. That shows weakness. Instead, I say that I didn't want to see all the good fights melt away.

"It's more impressive if I win younger, anyways." I finish. That was fine, right?

I don't find out. The bell rings, and I make my way back to my seat- the screams of the crowd echoing behind me.

Now that that's over, my mind turns to the real fun.

Let the Hunger Games begin.

**Tethys Rashid, 16 (written by HestiaAbnegation11)**

**District 3 Female**

"Let's welcome onto the stage, Tethys Rashid!" Flickerman shouts as I sort of float onto the stage. I'm wearing a dark black dress with some electric green accents in the stitches. "Welcome!"

I sit down on the chair next to Felix and he says "Hello, Tethys. You are from District Three, am I correct?"

"Yes, Caesar." I say laughing a bit. "What is the thing you love most in the world."

"Well, besides my family and my friends, pancakes aren't far behind." The whole audience booms with laughter and Felix is laughing a little bit.

"Pancakes? I assume you've had a lot of those since arriving in the Capitol, am I correct, Tethys?" Flickerman says to me.

"Oh yes! My favorites are the Capitol ones are chocolate with the chocolate chips in them. It's just so much chocolate!" I reply earnestly.

The whole audience laughs again and Felix turns to me. "How about boys, a beautiful girl like you must have at least one back at home."

"No, no. Not me, I didn't have time for boys, I worked most of the time." I reply honestly and start to feel ice cold sweat drip down my neck. I'm getting nervous.

"Aww, that can't be true, now can it?" Felix moans and the Capitol joins in with him. "What about which district would you like to visit if anyone would let you go anywhere?"

That one, I have to think about. Not Three, Not One, Not Two. Can't do those. I genuinely want to see Four someday, and also maybe a couple others. "District Eleven." I say flatly.

I can see him process what I said and the gears literally shift in his mind. "That would be interesting, wouldn't it? What particularly about it would you like to visit?" Felix says.

"I would love to see the huge fields of grain. District Three has no wheat or very much grass anywhere." I reply to Felix and the whole crowd sighs in sadness.

"That does make sense. How about the other tributes? How do you feel about them?" Felix asks. Oh no. I can't group them all in one, can I?

"Some are quite smart, some are really vicious. I have a couple allies, myself in the arena." I say smiling.

"What would you like to say to your friends and family watching back at home?" Felix asks.

"To Emilene, I would like to say that if I die in the arena that you can have all my stuff. And that I will remember you throughout the whole time I am in the arena. To Mom and Dad, I would like to thank you for everything you have done for me over the years. And that I am sorry I wasn't able to be there with you for the Reapings. To Kelvin," I think of a very distant friend back in Three. "I would like to thank you for all the help in my job every year, and not panicking. Thank you everyone, for everything." I say, fanning my face, feeling tears slide down it.

"Oh, it's okay, it's okay." Felix says putting an arm around me.

"Thank you." I whisper and the buzzer sounds.

"I'm sorry folks, but that's all what we got for Miss Tethys Rashid of District Three!" Flickerman shouts as I rush off the stage.

"Hello!" I shout to my team and they run toward me. I approach my prep team and ask "How did I do?"

"You were great, Tethys, really great." They all chime in agreements after Wendi said that.

I love my prep team. They are the best! They help me every day and doing regular stuff and they even help me make pancakes! What isn't to love? Well, pretty soon it will be the Games.

**Adalyn Rhodes, 14 (written by Elim9)**

**District 8 Female**

Three minutes.

How am I supposed to say everything I want to in only three minutes? Three minutes to let my family know how much I love them, how much I miss them, how much I want to come home to them. Three minutes to convince the sponsors that I have a chance, that I'm prepared to fight, that I'm ready to kill.

Three minutes.

Felix grins as I take a seat next to him. How can he still be so cheerful? He's already interviewed fourteen tributes. At least thirteen of them won't be coming back. How can he just sit here and pretend that we all have a chance? How can he pretend that each of us is going to be the victor?

I'm so focused on his smile that I almost miss the first question. "So, Adalyn, how do you feel about District Eight's chances this year?"

How do I feel about our chances? Terrible. I'm fourteen, scrawny, and totally unprepared. My district partner – and only ally – is just as bad. Maybe worse. Our chances are terrible, and we both know it.

_Lie_.

"I think we've got a good chance," I offer, not really sure what else to say. Does he want me to brag? Pretend to have skills that both he and the audience know I don't? What else does he want me to say?

The lights are making me dizzy. Making it hard to focus. Godric and Vasilios gave us advice – I know they did. But, for the life of me – maybe quite literally – I can't remember a word of it. All I can think of is my family, watching, begging me to say something. Something that will convince them that I'm coming home.

But I'm not.

They have to know that. Surely they know that I don't have a chance. Not really. They're probably crying already, knowing they've already lost me.

Felix must see the tears starting to brim in my eyes, because he changes the topic. Not that there _was_ much of a topic. "Can you give us any hint about what surprises we can expect from you in the arena, Adalyn?"

My mouth opens before I can stop myself. "Making it through this interview without crying would be a good surprise."

Felix doesn't seem to know quite what to say to that. "I don't think there's any reason to start crying yet."

That's probably supposed to sound comforting, but it only makes it worse. "No reason to start crying? When I'm going to be in the arena tomorrow, fighting for my life? When I might never see my family again? When I probably only have a few days to live? I think I've got plenty of reasons to be crying."

I'm not sure how much of that makes it through the tears that are now streaming down my face, the sobs I'm struggling – and failing – to choke back. It's a relief when the buzzer sounds, and my time is up. Three minutes.

Three minutes, and I've wasted them.

**Jeremiah Garner, 13 (written by Elim9)**

**District Eight Male**

Three minutes.

How do they expect me to go out there and talk about myself for three whole minutes? Adalyn just completely broke down, and she _likes _to talk. If she couldn't do it, how am I supposed to?

But I don't exactly have a choice. As soon as she's offstage, someone gives me a shove, and I take her place. The lights are bright. Distracting. Almost dizzying. It's an effort to keep myself steady, keep my hands from shaking, as I take a seat next to Felix. I fold my hands, trying to look proper. Polite. Courteous.

Maybe not the best angle ever, but it could be worse.

"So, Jeremiah, what do you think of your district partner?"

What?

It's a moment before I realize what he's trying to do. He recognizes that Adalyn's interview was a disaster. So he's giving me a chance to seem like the stronger of the pair. To make her look weak. To pull her down and put myself on top – at least as far as District Eight goes.

But the fact remains that we're still far, far down near the bottom of the list of tributes who are going to make a good impression tonight. Making myself look better than her isn't going to do anything. Not really. And, if I'm being honest, I don't think I can do that to her.

Because, in the end, I'm not better. Right at this moment, at this given point in time, I might be a bit more composed, but that doesn't mean anything. My ability to sit calmly in a chair with a bunch of flashy lights and a ridiculous-looking suit and not break into tears isn't going to mean a thing once we're actually in the arena.

It's a moment before I realize he's repeating the question. How many times has he asked? The audience is probably giggling at me. Too distracted, too shy to even answer a simple question. I've already made about as bad of an impression as I can.

So I might as well tell the truth.

"I think she's the bravest one in this room," I say, my voice barley above a whisper.

Felix latches onto that immediately – probably grateful I've finally said _something_. "And what makes you say that?"

"Because she's afraid."

"You just said she was brave."

"That's what being brave is – being afraid and doing what you have to do, anyway. The fact that she was willing to sit here and _admit _that she's afraid – that she was willing to cry in front of all of you, willing to _show_ just how afraid she is – that was brave. A lot braver than sitting here and putting on a smile, putting on a show. She's scared. We both are. But we're both going to go out there tomorrow and do what we have to do, anyway."

The buzzer sounds just as I finish the sentence, and I hurry off the stage without so much as a bow or a goodbye. Three minutes. Three minutes, and I only answered one question.

But I made it count.


End file.
